


Fic Advent 2012

by riots



Series: Fic Advent [1]
Category: Block B, DMTN (Band), EXO (Band), Infinite (Band)
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-01
Updated: 2012-12-22
Packaged: 2018-02-21 08:46:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 43,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2462090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riots/pseuds/riots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Assorted drabbles written through December. Each chapter is labelled with fandom and pairing or focus!!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. EXO, Jongdae-centric gen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> one-sided jongdae/translator jiejie, exo-m gen  
> pg, 1k words  
>  _"A member of EXO-M (or maybe all the members?) has a crush on Translator Jiejie."_

“Excuse me?” Jongdae tries again. It's been such a long day and he just wants something to _eat_ before they have to get on the plane. Unfortunately for him, his Mandarin is failing him right now. The man behind the counter looks irritated, rattling off another sentence, and Jongdae rubs futilely at his sore eyes. “Please, can you speak slowly?” There's a lineup building up behind him and Jongdae is about two seconds from just walking away. What's one more skipped meal, anyway?

Gentle fingers tap against his elbow, and he blinks down at Xiao Jing. Jongdae is pretty sure he's never been so relieved to see their translator in his entire life. Her serious presence is reassuring, making some of his tension seep away. “What did you want to get?” she asks in Korean, and it only takes her a few minutes to relay his order. He does his best not to flush with embarrassment, and in response to her sweet smile. He's not doing so well.

“Next time,” Jongdae says, fidgeting, as the man hands back his change. “Next time, I will order the hell out of my dinner.” He offers her a hesitant grin, and she just laughs. His ears are getting hot and he should feel even more embarrassed, but there's nothing malicious about it. 

This isn't the first time she's rescued him from floundering in the language barrier. Every time, he does his best to apologize, but she always waves him off. Maybe it's her job, but she's always seemed to keep an eye on him, seems to know just when to intervene before he humiliates himself. He's grateful for that particular skill.

“I'll hold you to it,” she says warmly, sweeping her hair out of her eyes, and it takes him a second to notice that the impatient man behind the counter is waving at him. He ducks his head apologetically and grabs his container, balancing his drink on top. Maybe he's even more tired than he'd thought.

Xiao Jing walks him back to the table, and Jongdae does his level best not to flush when her arm brushes up against hers. She stays close, steadying his drink with a quick hand. “Try not to fall asleep in your food, alright?” she teases. She pats his shoulder as he drops his food on the table and then heads to the other end to sit with the rest of their staff. 

Lu Han eyes him as he sits down. “Did you have a nice little date?” he asks sweetly.

Eyes determinedly fixed on his food, Jongdae wrinkles his nose. “Not a date,” he says. 

Lu Han slings an arm around him and Jongdae squirms his shoulders, trying to shrug him off. “But you're so _red_ ,” Lu Han says gleefully. “I think you've got a crush.” He's beaming obnoxiously and across the table, Yixing and Zitao laugh. It's getting harder to focus on actually getting some of his hard won meal in his belly instead of how badly he wants to sink down in his seat and hide.

Minseok isn't quite following the conversation, he's only half listening and as tired as Jongdae is. He can still figure out the general gist of things from Jongdae's red ears and the way he can't quite quit glancing over at the far end of the table. It's not his fault, Jongdae thinks. “Don't worry,” he says, patting Jongdae's knee. Jongdae wrestles Lu Han's arm off and prods him in the side, making Lu Han recoil and pull a face. “It's cute.”

This is not reassuring. “It is _not_ a crush,” Jongdae insists, and this time even Yifan snorts, covering his grin with one of his freakishly large hand. “I'm going to kill you all. I'm going to go solo.” He looks around at all of them before pointing a finger at Yixing. “Yixing ge can live. He can be my back up.” Yixing pauses, confusion settling over his face. He looks as if he can't decide to be flattered or offended.

“I'm the better singer,” Lu Han protests.

Zitao scoffs. “I'd like to see you try something,” he says, a challenge in his eyes. He holds his hands up menacingly. Jongdae narrows his eyes and raises his fists in return, and the two of them grin at each other.

“Children, please,” Yifan says. He gestures at all of them with his chopsticks and Zitao lets his hands fall to his lap. “No fighting.” Jongdae is about to favour him with a thankful smile when he continues. “Leave Jongdae and his little crush alone.”

“Oh, come _on_ ,” Jongdae groans, tipping his head back as the rest of them erupt in laughter again. Yixing throws Jongdae a sympathetic look as Lu Han pokes him repeatedly in the ribs, doggedly ignoring all of his attempts to swat his hands away. “I can't believe I live with you people.” He allows himself a second to glance down the table, and he can't swallow back the grin that flashes across his face when Xiao Jing favours him with a quick smile.

“Not a crush?” Yixing asks mischievously and Lu Han cackles. Jongdae couldn't go any redder if he tried, but Lu Han finally relents. 

He lets Jongdae steal a bite off his plate, although not happily, and in return, Jongdae doesn't punch him in the knee when he puts his arm around him again. “It's okay, buddy,” Lu Han tells him. “We're here for you during this trying time.”

Jongdae shouts with laughter before he can contain himself. “You're the problem!” he declares. There's no edge to his words, as much as he'd like there to be. 

Lu Han settles in to needle Jongdae under his breath while they finish up their meals and Jongdae's eyes keep finding their way to the other end of the table. As tired as he is, he can't help but feel a warmth spread in his stomach from Xiao Jing's smile and the weight of Lu Han's arm and the laughter at the table. It's been a long day, he thinks, but a pretty good one, too.


	2. EXO, Kris/Suho

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kris/suho  
> nc-17, 1.6k words  
> au. _"Kris/Suho. Manager Suho takes care of his idol Wu Fan very well."_

“If I never have to host another show,” Yifan says, rubbing delicately at the hinges of his jaw and grimacing. “I will die happy.” In his defense, it has been an especially long day. The company has insisted on increasing Yifan's dance training, in some sad, misguided attempt to finally turn him into something approximating a dancer, and he'd had a radio show in the morning before coming to record tonight's show. Yifan is a professional, though, and he hadn't flagged for a second while in front of the camera. Joonmyun is proud of him.

“I'm sure,” he agrees half-heartedly. He does one last quick check, assures himself that he's gotten everything, and then glances over at Yifan. “Come on,” he says, and he tugs gently at Yifan's shoulder. “One more time, then you've got the rest of the night to yourself.” 

Yifan makes a little click with his tongue, and for a second, Joonmyun can see the exhaustion written in every line of his face and the slump of his shoulders. Yifan's last comeback had been a bit rough, so this time there was far more riding on his performance. Yifan is not a natural dancer, or even singer for that matter, but he does have an easy charm and does so well on the variety circuit that things even out. It doesn't hurt that he never gives up, either. 

Joonmyun lets his fingers skate across Yifan's shoulder to curl lightly around the back of his neck. Yifan looks up sharply at the gentle press of Joonmyun's fingertips, but he doesn't say a thing. “You've been so good,” he says teasingly, and he watches the way that Yifan's throat works, the sudden dark intensity of his eyes. His hand drops but Yifan's gaze is still fixed on him. There is a certain amount of privacy in the room, but it's still not enough. “Maybe I can figure out a reward for you?”

Yifan gets up so fast that Joonmyun has to cover his grin with his hand. “We should go,” he says decisively, throwing on his jacket and picking up his bag. “Shouldn't we?”

Although he's sorely tempted to poke a little fun at Yifan for that, his day has been just as long, and the sooner they get home the better. Another quick check to assure himself that he's got everything, and then Joonmyun is nodding. “Let's go.”

He leads Yifan out through the crush of fans. Yifan is as gracious as ever, pausing to smile directly at the cameras, but he doesn't waste any time. When they get to the car, Yifan settles down in his seat with his neck pillow, purposefully avoiding Joonmyun's eyes in the mirror. That's okay, Joonmyun has to focus on driving anyway.

Because he's a little bit sadistic, Joonmyun takes his time when they get home, taking off his shoes, going over a bit of paperwork, double-checking tomorrow's schedule. He gets caught up in it all, and he doesn't realize until Yifan is sticking his head around the doorframe. “Should we eat?” he asks carefully, and Joonmyun laughs.

“Sorry, got a little caught up,” he says, and Yifan nods. His casual manner is betrayed by the way his eyes fix on Joonmyun's and the way his tongue flashes out to lick his lips, and Joonmyun smiles. His acting is getting better. A year ago, he would never have been able to hide it this well. Joonmyun feels another surge of pride in Yifan, in how he's grown over the years. “Maybe something else first?”

The corners of Yifan's mouth curl up. “Please,” he says, and Joonmyun snorts. They're the only two in the dorm, but Joonmyun still tugs Yifan forward into his room and closes the door behind them. Yifan has changed, his stiff suit swapped for an old shirt and sweats, which Joonmyun much prefers. He won't have to get these pressed after they're done, and it's easier access.

He knows he could rile Yifan up a bit, tease him for being so eager, but with his makeup off, Joonmyun can see the deep circles under his eyes, and he doesn't have the heart to make him work for it. At least, not tonight. 

He grabs a handful of Yifan's shirt and pulls him close, one hand pressed to the back of Yifan's neck. He likes the way that Yifan sighs into his mouth, his big hands curling around Joonmyun's hips. There's a lazy urgency to the way they kiss, the firm way that Yifan licks his way into Joonmyun's mouth. It's been a while, Joonmyun realizes. Yifan needs this and Joonmyun can provide it.

Joonmyun pushes his hand down between them, working his palm against the front of Yifan's sweats, and tired or not, he can feel his cock harden. The little noise Yifan makes deep in the back of his throat sends a sharp thrill down Joonmyun's spine, and he smiles against Yifan's lips. 

He likes Yifan when he's tired like this. His guard is down, and he lets his hips arch up into Joonmyun's touch. This Yifan doesn't worry so much about appearing in control. He lets Joonmyun tug his sweats down and then push him back until his legs hit the bed and he sits down abruptly, looking almost surprised. 

Joonmyun is still laughing softly when he drops to his knees and takes the tip of Yifan's half-hard cock into his mouth. He's good at this now, he's always been good at looking after Yifan. Yifan may be impatient, but Joonmyun never is. He takes his time, twisting his hand around the base of Yifan's cock as slowly as he works his lips and tongue against the head, and Yifan groans. “Joonmyun,” he says, but there's only the barest hint of pleading in his voice right now, so Joonmyun ignores him.

One of Yifan's big hands comes up to cradle the back of Joonmyun's head, but he knows better than to apply pressure. Joonmyun takes it as encouragement and he takes Yifan in deeper, sliding his fingertips up Yifan's belly, featherlight. 

Yifan is never vocal, but when Joonmyun presses his tongue up, hard, just under the head of Yifan's cock, he's rewarded with a hiss. When he follows it up by taking Yifan in as far as he can, Yifan lets out a string of what Joonmyun is pretty certain is something filthy in Mandarin. Just this, just this ability to take Yifan apart has Joonmyun hard as hell, pressing uncomfortably against the seam of his pants.

He hums, pleased, and Yifan's fingers tighten in his hair. “Joonmyun,” he gasps. His hips jerk up into Joonmyun's mouth and Joonmyun presses him down, his eyes trained on Yifan's face.

He loves Yifan like this, his soft, just-washed hair in his eyes, a flush creeping up his throat, his hand opening and closing on the bedspread next to him. “Joonmyun,” he says again. “Please, please, fuck, _please_.” And _there_ is the pleading he's been waiting for. Joonmyun swallows him down and Yifan almost _sobs_ , falling back on his elbow as he thrusts up into Joonmyun's mouth. Joonmyun closes his eyes and lets him, lets Yifan fuck his mouth until he's crying out and coming, his fingers pulling hard at Joonmyun's hair.  
.  
Joonmyun swallows it down, only pulling off when Yifan collapses shakily on the bed. He's so hard now, and he wipes his hand across the back of his mouth before he pops the button on his jeans and pulls out his cock.

“Oh,” Yifan says, straightening, and he sounds a little wrecked. “I can – ” 

Shaking his head, Joonmyun catches Yifan's hand. “No, I just...” It won't take him long, it's been a while since he had a chance to do this and he's got help in the form of Yifan, looking thoroughly debauched. He guides Yifan's hand to his head again, and it takes a second but Yifan gets it, he remembers. He slides his fingers into Joonmyun's hair and pulls, lightly at first, and then harder. 

Joonmyun lets out a moan, his hand moving faster. He can feel it building and he's startled when Yifan bends to kiss him. The combination of Yifan's insistent lips and hand are too much, and it's a matter of minutes before Joonmyun shouts into Yifan's mouth, spilling over his hand. 

Soothing a hand across the back of Joonmyun's head, Yifan smiles. “You know,” he says, passing over the tissues even as Joonmyun's reaching for them. “I can deal with the tough days if they're all going to end like this.”

Joonmyun rolls his eyes. “You would,” he says dryly, carefully cleaning himself up. He moves to button up his jeans but Yifan stops him, tugging them down and then dragging Joonmyun onto the bed and under the covers. 

“Relax,” Yifan tells him, and Joonmyun can think of a half dozen things he should probably be doing. “Night off, remember?” Somehow, Joonmyun's responsibility abandons him and he finds himself curled up against Yifan's chest, listening to his heartbeat and his complaints about his co-hosts of the day. It's an odd sort of lullaby, but it works.


	3. EXO, Kris/Yixing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kris/yixing  
> pg, 800 words  
> " _yixing is jealous of alpaca-chan u____u (and kris finds this endlessly amusing and likes that he finally gets to tease yixing abt something)_ "

“You know,” Yixing sighs. “For someone who is theoretically a grown man, you are pretty preoccupied with that thing.” He props his chin up on a hand and looks over at Yifan, an amused smile on his face. 

Between them, on the couch, sits Ace, Yifan's prized alpaca plushie. Since he got it from the fans, Yifan has been taking it everywhere. Part of it, Yixing knows, is for the fans. Yifan likes to make them happy, and the way that they'd screamed when he'd carefully placed his frames on the plushie's face had made him bite back a smile. 

Part of it, though, definitely isn't. When they leave for a flight, Yifan delicately tucks the plushie under his covers, and when they're home, sometimes it ends up in the kitchen when they're making dinner. And right now, late at night, in the middle of their dorm, where they can't be seen, the stuffed alpaca is between them, carefully situated to face forward. “I don't know what you mean,” Yifan replies. 

It's irritating, because Yifan is genuinely not paying any attention to him. He's got one long arm stretched across the back of the couch behind the stuffed toy like it was his _date_ , and he's focused on the drama they'd turned on. It's a little frustrating.

“I'm sure,” Yixing says, a bit exasperated, and something about the tone of his voice has Yifan turning to eye him.

“You don't like Ace?” he asks slyly. 

The smug little smile on his lips makes Yixing roll his eyes. “No,” he says stubbornly. He settles back on the couch and exhales through his nose. When he crosses his arms over his chest, he sees Yifan's smile broaden, and he scowls. “What?”

“He's a plushie,” Yifan says patiently, like _Yixing_ is the one being weird, and he hasn't been toting around a stuffed animal for weeks. He can feel his ears getting hot.

Yixing scowls. “Thank you for clarifying,” he says. He turns back to the TV, determined to end this conversation.

Yifan has other ideas, though. A few seconds later, Yixing feels the brush of fingertips across the sensitive skin of his neck. He yelps and ducks, slapping his hands protectively around his throat to prevent further attacks. “You're jealous of a plushie,” Yifan gloats.

“Well,” Yixing tells him, still leaning out of Yifan's range. “I would have thought it would take you at _least_ a year after debut before you lost your mind. You're ahead of schedule.”

Yifan follows him, grinning, pleased. “You're still my favourite,” he assures Yixing, and even as Yixing narrows his eyes, warmth floods his chest.

“I'm not jealous of a stuffed alpaca, I'm worried about your sanity.” He wrinkles his nose as Yifan splays one of his big hands across his hip, thumb brushing against the strip of skin exposed just below the hemline. “There are only so many interviews I can do playing off your fixation on children's toys as funny, you know.” He wants to grumble about Yifan making him do all the heavy lifting in those things but Yifan is sliding up between his legs and brushing his nose against his.

“You're a comedian,” Yifan says. “In the wrong business.” Yixing relents, shifting to settle his arms around Yifan's neck.

“You're holding me back,” Yixing agrees, leaning up to catch Yifan's mouth in a soft, leisurely kiss. One hand finds its way to tangle in Yifan's hair, just holding him close.

After a few seconds though, Yifan pushes him away. “Hold on,” he says, pulling Ace out from between them.

Yixing covers his face with his hands and laughs, his head tipping back over the arm of the couch. “ _Really_?” He can't even bring himself to be annoyed, because the image of big Yifan carefully rescuing his prized plushie is just too much.

“What?” Yifan asks, and Yixing just shakes his head, climbing to his feet.

“I'm going to sleep,” he says, and Yifan glances from the stuffed alpaca in his hands and then up at Yixing again, clearly considering. Yixing snorts and rolls his eyes. “Better put the kid to bed.”

He reaches the door to his room before he feels the gentle touch of a hand on his back and when he turns around, Yifan is smiling down at him and Ace is carefully set on the table, out of harm's way. “Good choice,” Yixing says, opening the door.

“Debatable,” Yifan tells him, smirking. He gets an elbow to the gut for his trouble.


	4. EXO, Kai/Sehun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kai/sehun  
> pg, 820 words  
> prompt was [this](http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m66orrlxLU1qi80mho1_500.png) picture. subway date in london.

Jongin crumples up the garbage from his lunch violently, grimacing as he balls the sandwich wrapper up between his hands. Across the table, Sehun looks up, straw between his lips. “What's with the dumb face?” he asks. 

Jongin tosses the wrapper at Sehun's forehead. The flat irritation in Sehun's eyes as it bounces off his forehead is a nice soothing balm for Jongin's mood. “It's not dumb,” he tells Sehun.

With a shrug, Sehun raises his straw to his mouth again. “That's up for debate,” he says. When Jongin doesn't rise to the bait, just scowls, Sehun tips his head. “What's wrong?” he asks again, and Jongin would be lying if he said he wasn't gratified by the genuine concern that tempers Sehun's curiosity. 

Jongin doesn't say anything, though, just shakes his head a little and shrugs. He's got his hands clenched so tightly his knuckles ache, but he can't help the way that his eyes dart towards the group of fans standing in a knot by the door. The cameras swing towards him and he hunches his shoulders.

“Oh,” Sehun says, following Jongin's gaze. 

“I guess I was kind of hoping that like, there wouldn't be...so many here,” Jongin admits. He knows he shouldn't be so ungrateful, it wasn't like being followed by fans everywhere they went was a surprise. But seeing them everywhere with their giant cameras, watching them from a nearby table or from the window outside – it makes him feel claustrophobic. His chest gets tight and he can feel the tension pulling at his shoulders and neck.

Sehun shrugs, a bit nonplussed. “Comes with the territory,” he says. 

Jongin reaches for his drink but doesn't take a sip, just listens to the way that the ice rattles against the sides of the cup. “Yeah,” he says after a second. “Yeah, I know.” 

Silence stretches between them, and Jongin's shifts in his seat. He knows it doesn't make sense, and he can see Sehun trying to puzzle it out, but he doesn't know how to put it in words. Surprise surprise. He frowns at himself and Sehun doesn't say anything.

Their manager calls for everyone to start getting ready to go and Jongin stands in a rush, grateful for the excuse to move. From the next table, Kyungsoo smiles at him, glancing down pointedly at the garbage on the table. Grumbling, Jongin collects it and heads to throw it out.

When he turns around again, Sehun is right there, way closer than is probably necessary. Jongin holds up his drink between them, like some kind of feeble shield. “Watch where you're going,” he grumbles.

Sehun doesn't move. “Look at me,” he says. Jongin just bristles and tries to push Sehun away. “Jongin, c'mon. Please?”

Despite himself, Jongin's eyes dart up to meet Sehun's. “What?” he says, softening.

“Look,” Sehun says, and his tone is sincere, and Jongin has to fight off the urge to physically run, since Sehun seems to have decided that they're gonna get serious in the middle of a sandwich shop in London with fans watching them through the window. “I don't get it? But I know it's like, a hundred times worse for you.” At least, Jongin thinks. “So when it gets bad, just...tell me. Cause I'm right here.”

“You're right here,” Jongin echoes, and while Sehun's expression doesn't change, he can see a bit of pink creep into his cheeks. “You're right here. That is the cheesiest thing I've ever heard. Did you steal that from a drama?”

“I hate you,” Sehun tells him, turning to go. “I don't know why I – ” 

Jongin catches his arm. “Thanks,” he says abruptly, and now it's his turn to fight off a flush. “You being around. It.” He's floundering. He gestures weakly with the drink in his hand. “It helps.”

Sehun nods. They trade crooked, bitten-off smiles and Jongin feels a little better. The noise in the shop rises as their managers count them off, making sure everyone is accounted for and ready to go. Sehun leans in, mouth at Jongin's ear. Despite himself, Jongin's heartbeat speeds up, just a little. 

“You've got lettuce on your shirt,” Sehun says, and when he pulls away he's smirking. Dismayed, Jongin looks down at himself, setting Sehun up perfectly to flick him in the nose. 

“Hey!” Jongin punches Sehun with his free hand, hard, and Sehun grins back at him. 

They let Joonmyun herd them out of the shop, and when Jongin flinches at the click of a camera shutter, he feels the quick pressure of an elbow to his side. When he glances over, Sehun rolls his eyes conspiratorially. It's not much, but it pulls a quick smile to Jongin's lips, and somehow, his shoulders don't feel quite so tight.


	5. EXO, Kai/Tao

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kai/tao  
> pg-13, 1.7k words  
> prompt was [this](http://youtu.be/eblGD5yuid8) song, so naturally it became a high school prom au.

It's too tight. He knew it'd be too tight. Jongin shifts uncomfortably, trying to ignore the way that his rented suit jacket pulls taut over his shoulders. His mom had told him, too, but he'd just wanted to get a suit and get the hell out of there, and now he's stuck squirming around and hoping maybe the jacket will stretch a bit. Maybe, if he's lucky, it'll get hot in the gym and then it'll be socially acceptable to take it off.

Jongin stops abruptly when he realizes that Chanyeol is watching him, eyebrows raised. “What's wrong with you?” he asks, and Jongin hates the mocking grin spreading across Chanyeol's face. It's not malicious, but it makes Jongin shove him hard enough that Chanyeol wobbles and his punch slops over his knuckles. “Easy, tiger.” He frowns and bends to lick the sugary drink off his hand.

“Gross,” Kyungsoo wrinkles his nose. “Why don't you wash your hands like a normal person?” 

“And waste this?” Chanyeol laughs, deliberately lapping up a drop that had rolled down his forearm. Jongin watches idly, knowing that Chanyeol had half meant for the gesture to be sexy but instead Kyungsoo looks faintly horrified, fishing in his pockets for a tissue or _something_. 

Jongin's given up on making his jacket sit on a shoulder in a way that doesn't bug him, resigned to his fate of discomfort all night. He wonders if that's kind of the point of these things. His own cup of punch is forgotten in his hand, getting warm, but it's not like he really wants to drink it. 

There's music playing, but nobody's dancing. To Jongin, that makes no sense. There are a few people here and there, and he wonders what it'd be like if he weren't too self-conscious to go join them. Isn't that the whole reason why he's here? Well, that and – 

His eyes slide to the other side of the room. Yifan, expected prom king, holds court over the other Chinese exchange students, and Jongin's jealous of how well his expensive-looking suit fits. But it's not Yifan he's looking for. Or Lu Han and Yixing, thick as thieves, shoulders pressed together while they share a quiet conversation. 

Jongin finds him without even trying, his gaze drawn to him like a magnet. Zitao is all long limbs, white button up fitted to the neat line of his waist. He looks _good_ , Jongin thinks wistfully. He always does, really, but that's not the point. He's wearing a little bowtie and smiling at something Jongdae is saying and Jongin is pretty sure he's never looked better.

“You're doing it again,” Sehun tells him. His tie is already half off and he, wisely, probably, had opted for water instead of whatever this punch was. 

Jongin raises his cup to his face and squints into it. It's pink. He's pretty sure pink is not a fruit. “Doing what?” he asks, unnecessarily. He knows what Sehun's going to say, but he'd rather pretend that he doesn't.

“The weird staring thing.” Sehun glances over at Zitao, looking him over. He shrugs. “I don't get it, man. What kind of loser wears a bowtie, anyway?”

“Shut up,” Jongin says defensively. He knows it's a mistake as soon as Sehun looks at him sidelong, a knowing smirk spreading across his lips. “It's not – ” Sehun's grin gets wider. “Shut up!” He glares at Sehun and takes a hesitant sip of punch. It's as gross and over-sweet as he'd thought. Seems appropriate.

Sehun doesn't even flinch. “So it's _not_ you standing over here with your shitty punch and trying to make Zitao come make out with you with your brain.” Jongin sputters but ends up just closing his mouth and glaring at Sehun. “Thought so. Dude, you are such a pussy. I'm surprised you even managed to get up the courage to introduce yourself.”

“You suck,” Jongin grumbles. He ditches the gross punch on a table and pulls again at the shoulders of his jacket. Baekhyun barely looks up from his conversation with Taeyeon, but Jongin doesn't even have the energy to dwell on the unfairness that is Baekhyun with his fingers tangled up with the pretty senior noona. 

His eyes dart again across the room and this time, when they find Zitao, he's looking back. Jongin's stomach drops out and he looks away immediately, a flush creeping up his cheeks. His heart feels like it's going to beat its way out of his chest. “Pathetic,” Sehun tells him, but there's no edge to it. If Jongin weren't so distracted right now, he'd point out Sehun's equally hopeless crush on their hot young student teacher, Miss Kwon. 

As it is, though, he risks another glance up and his heart tries to take a flying leap right out of his chest when he sees that Zitao is smiling at him. It's just as little and hesitant as Jongin feels right now, and something about that sparks up a little hope in his chest. It's just enough to push him into motion. “Shut up,” he says one more time, and slides out of his jacket. Sehun blinks as Jongin shoves it into his hand and strides purposefully out on the dance floor. Jongin's way nervous but the shock on Sehun's face is kind of rewarding.

There still aren't a lot of people dancing, but Jongin is already here, so he might as well just go for it. In the middle of the floor, Hyoyeon beams at him and waves him over. Jongin heads over without objection. He's always liked Hyoyeon, bright and friendly and a great dancer, always willing to help him in his dance classes. 

Following her lead, Jongin lets go. The music isn't great, but it's got a catchy beat and dancing is probably the one thing that Jongin likes better than sleeping. Hyoyeon's laughter is infectious and for a few minutes, Jongin doesn't think. 

He lets Hyoyeon reel him in and pull out his smile, teasing him about how he's too young to be so grumpy. He loses track of time, and his tie, as the floor fills up. The one thing he doesn't lose track of, even through the crowd of dancers, is Zitao. Sometimes he's watching Jongin, body facing Jongdae but his eyes fixed on Jongin's. The way that he bites his lip makes Jongin's chest tighten, makes it hard to breathe.

Still, though, it's like Jongin exhausted his courage just by getting himself out on the floor. He _wants_ to go ask Zitao to dance, but it's like he can't physically make himself do it. Instead, he dances and he watches, and he feels like a bit of an idiot. He's pretty sure making the first move isn't supposed to be this hard.

“Ooh,” Hyoyeon says, mouth right at his ear between songs. “He's cute.” Jongin chokes and stares at her, wide-eyed. Even when she pulls away again, he can hear her laughing. “What? You're not exactly subtle.” Of course, that's exactly when Sehun slides up beside them and Jongin feels kind of ambushed. “Tell him,” Hyoyeon says to Sehun. “Tell him he should go ask the cute little Chinese exchange student to dance.”

“I've tried,” Sehun says sadly, and Jongin scowls at him. “It turns out that he's useless.” 

Jongin can feel himself turning red. “Quit it,” he whines, shrinking down under their scrutiny and twin grins. He licks his lips nervously and glances over his shoulder one more time. He watches Lu Han tip his head back and laugh, shoving Zitao, and Zitao ducks his head with embarrassment, pushing back. Then the two of them are looking up at him. Jongin's, well, he's pretty terrible at reading body language and like, signs and stuff. But this one seems pretty clear to him. “Okay,” he says. He takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Sehun asks. “What's okay?”

Jongin doesn't hear him. He's too busy pushing his way through the people on the dance floor and doing his best not to lose his nerve. His flush only gets worse when he sees Lu Han's eyes widen, pushing Zitao forward.

When he's finally in front of Zitao, his mouth goes dry and his feet stumble to a stop. Not so graceful now, huh? He swallows and rubs at his neck, grateful that it's a little quieter back here. “Hi,” he says finally. His voice is so weak it's barely audible. He tries again. “Hi!”

There's a lopsided, pleased smile making its way across Zitao's lips. “Hi, Jongin,” he replies, and Jongin would like to think he's strong enough to not get a total rush when Zitao says his name, but he does. 

“So,” he says, and behind Zitao, Jongdae snorts. Zitao's head whips around, eyes fierce and hard and Jongdae holds up his hands in apology. An amused smile on his lips, Yifan wraps an arm around Lu Han's waist and then steers the rest of them away. Zitao turns back, his eyes shy and encouraging, and Jongin musters up a bit more courage. “You don't, uh. Come to a lot of these dances.”

“No,” Zitao agrees. He carefully sets down his drink, looking expectant, and that's probably about when Jongin realizes that he has nothing to lose.

“Do you want to dance? With me?” He waves a hand vaguely at the crowd of students dancing. “Over there?”

The grin that Zitao flashes him is bright and sharp, all teeth. “Yes, please,” he agrees, so fast that Jongin's breath catches in his throat.

Jongin grins back. “ _Awesome_ ,” he says fervently, and Zitao laughs. Hesitantly, he holds out a hand and Zitao takes it. He leads Jongin back out onto the floor, and they find their own space. Zitao never lets go of Jongin's hand, even if they're getting sweaty, and Jongin could swear he feels Zitao's heartbeat against his palm. He's pretty sure this is the best night of his life, shitty punch and all.


	6. EXO, Baekhyun/Tao

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> baekhyun/tao  
> r for dicks, 630 words  
> " _Finding ways to shamelessly flirt even when they are in different countries_ "

Baekhyun's eyes widen when he sees the picture that Zitao's sent him and he slaps his phone facedown against his leg. He does his best to keep his composure, even though Chanyeol is eyeing him curiously from the chair next to him. Feigning nonchalance, Baekhyun waits until Chanyeol shifts his attention away and he's laughing at whatever game Sehun and Jongin are playing. It seems to involve a lot of punching. It always involves a lot of punching.

Casually, so casually, Baekhyun turns his phone over again. This time he's prepared, but that doesn't stop him from inhaling sharply. He's glad he's not quick to blush, because this would probably be the kind of situation that calls for it. 

The night before EXO-M left for China, Baekhyun and Zitao had spent the night in Zitao's room, watching movies on Yifan's laptop. When he'd toyed with Zitao's fingers and joked that Zitao should send him naked pictures if he missed him, Baekhyun had never expected he actually... _would_. 

And yet somehow, he's sitting backstage with a picture of Zitao on his phone that is _definitely_ incriminating. He knows it's dumb to even be looking at this right now, but he can't tear his eyes away from the sharp lines of Zitao's hips and the way the waistband of his boxer briefs stretch across them. The best part, of course, is what's below that: the outline of Zitao's cock, hard and pushing against the fabric of his briefs. 

Baekhyun stares at his phone until he's pretty sure the image is ingrained in his brain. He shifts a little in his seat and clears his throat and not for the first time, he wishes that China weren't so far away.

“What're you looking at?” Chanyeol's deep voice startles Baekhyun out of his revery and he reflexively flicks the screen off. Thank god for his quick reaction time.

“A text from your mother,” Baekhyun says smoothly. “She just wanted to thank me for a very, _very_ good night.” 

Chanyeol squawks in mock outrage as he swings at Baekhyun, no force behind it. “My mother is a _saint_ ,” he protests, shoving Baekhyun's shoulders so he rocks in his chair. 

Baekhyun laughs, tucking his phone into his pocket, pleased at the way it's forgotten as Chanyeol plays along. The picture hasn't left his mind, though. Even as he's slapping Chanyeol's hands away, there's a part of him that wants to know what it feels like, to trace his thumbs down Zitao's hipbones. 

When Chanyeol catches his eye again, Baekhyun can see he's curious, but Baekhyun just shakes his head. He's sure Chanyeol will wiggle it out of him, at night, when they're in their room, but now isn't the time or place. Especially not when he feels his phone vibrating and announcing the arrival of another text message.

This is safer. _hyung?_ says the first one. _i'm sorry_ , says the next. Baekhyun looks up quickly. The PD is waving at Joonmyun, flashing an outstretched hand to tell them they've got five minutes. He's got a second.

 _why? I'm not_.

“Someone looks pretty pleased with himself,” Sehun says suspiciously. 

Baekhyun grins at him, and he doesn't even mind when Sehun's eyes narrow even further. “Oh, you've got no idea,” he agrees. Joonmyun has his leader face on, the one that says 'phone away, Baekhyun', but Baekhyun isn't ready for that yet. _i hope that's a promise for when you're back_. He pauses, then adds: _or tonight_. Pressing send sets a thrill racing up his spine and he can't hold back his smile.

Two weeks until EXO-M is back in Korea. He's got the feeling that he and Zitao can figure out a very pleasant way to pass the time.


	7. EXO, Baekhyun/Suho

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> baekhyun/suho  
> pg, 700 words  
> au. " _I crave space. It charges my batteries. It helps me breathe. Being around people can be so exhausting, because most of them love to take and barely know how to give. Except for a rare few._ "

It's been one of those days. Joonmyun likes his job, he likes working with people, and all things considered, he's a pretty decent publicist. He even likes his client. Of course, he likes Yifan more when he's not sneaking out of his boyfriend's hotel room at two am and getting spotted by fans. Things are going to be bumpy for the next few weeks, but the only pictures were indistinct and if Yifan lays low, Joonmyun's confident they can weather this one. It could be worse, he supposes. He can spin an affair. He can't spin, say, joining a cult or a minor taxidermy hobby.

Joonmyun's been working non-stop since he got a frantic phone call in the wee hours of the morning. By the time he pulls into his driveway, it's already dark again, and he's too tired to even mourn the loss of the day. He takes a few tries to unlock the door, but he's not too exhausted to remember to carefully put away his shoes. He thinks about announcing his arrival, but as he makes his way into the living room, he catches sight of Baekhyun. He's curled up on the couch, dead to the world, and Joonmyun can't bear to disturb him.

It's not too bad, though. After spending all day on the phone or sweet talking reporters, not having to speak to anyone is kind of perfect. He sits at the kitchen counter in silence, carefully chewing the dinner Baekhyun had covered up and left for him and it gives him the chance to recharge.

It's like, for Joonmyun, when he's dealing with people, there's just this wall. He can give one hundred percent until a certain point and then _bam_ , his batteries are drained and every moment is a fight. Today, he's hours past that point and it feels so nice not to have like four people talking to him at once.

He's turning to slide his dishes into the sink when he feels the press of a hand against his waist. “When did you get in?” Baekhyun asks softly. His eyes are puffy with sleep and his hair is a mess but his smile is sweet and affectionate.

“Only a little while ago,” Joonmyun admits, and Baekhyun sighs a little. 

It probably shouldn't surprise Joonmyun anymore, that Baekhyun knows how to read him like this. Any other day, Baekhyun would have wrapped his arms around him and pulled him into a tight hug, but not tonight. His touch on Joonmyun's hip is featherlight, just enough to let Joonmyun know he's there, but not enough to make him feel crowded. “Don't tell me,” Baekhyun says. “You have to leave early tomorrow, too.”

“Unfortunately,” Joonmyun agrees. 

Baekhyun waits for Joonmyun to come to him. It's Joonmyun who takes a step forward, resting his cheek on Baekhyun's shoulder as his eyes slide shut. The tension in his body has been slowly unwinding since he stepped through the door but the way Baekhyun's hand curls around the back of his head has Joonmyun melting into him. They stand for a long stretch, Baekhyun's fingers rubbing gentle circles into the small of Joonmyun's back. 

When he pulls away, Joonmyun smiles and presses a quick kiss to Baekhyun's forehead. “What would I do without you?” he asks.

“Starve, probably,” Baekhyun suggests. “It's not like you have time to make food for yourself.” The grin he flashes at Joonmyun is quick and sharp and Joonmyun chuckles. Pushing Joonmyun's bangs out of his eyes, Baekhyun shakes his head. “Bed?”

Joonmyun throws a look over his shoulder at the dishes in the sink. “I should – ” 

“Bed,” Baekhyun repeats firmly. “Go.” He pushes Joonmyun towards their room, throwing in a quick pat on the ass for good measure. 

It startles a laugh out of Joonmyun. “Aren't you coming too?” 

Baekhyun's thin, delicate fingers slide between Joonmyun's and it warms him to the tips of his toes. “Of course,” Baekhyun says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world, tugging him into the bedroom. Joonmyun follows easily, like he always does, and he's never been so content.


	8. EXO, Yixing/Minseok

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> yixing/minseok  
> pg, 1.3k words  
> au. " _xiumin works at a glass factory and lay is a young nobleman who falls in love with his glass sculptures (and with him)._ "

Yixing's mouth falls open as he carefully traces a finger along one sharp wing. The glass dragon is small, but perfectly crafted, a pair of delicate wings outstretched as it breathes out glass fire. 

“Your father picked it up for me when he was out the other day,” Yixing's mother says, almost proudly. “Isn't it lovely?”

It takes a second for Yixing to look up again. “It is,” he agrees, keeping his tone polite. His mother has always had a love for shiny baubles that his father enjoys indulging, and he's sure she appreciates it. There is a part of him, though, that is telling him that this little dragon will outshine the rest of her collection. “Where did he find it?” He sets it down gently, a little reluctantly.

“The glassblower has a new apprentice,” his mother replies, distracted. She frowns at him and Yixing's eyes widen. “Look at you, such a mess.” She pushes at his bangs and sighs as they just slide right back into his eyes. “Go clean yourself up for dinner. And find your brother!”

Yixing inclines his head, the picture of obedience. “Yes, mother,” he says.

He finds Lu Han in the stable, chin propped up in one hand as he sweet talks the stable boy. It's maybe a little cruel, but Yixing can't help but laugh as the stable boy reddens and ducks his head, returning to his tasks. “Leave poor Sehun alone,” Yixing chides, and he reddens further, back straight as he pointedly ignores Yixing's words. “Mother wants us to come for dinner.”

“How boring,” Lu Han sighs. He turns and hooks his thin arm through Yixing's. “Well, let us go, brother. Duty calls.” As they walk back to the house, Yixing ignores the way he turns to look over his shoulder and the smile on his face.

“Don't you have better things to do with your time than watch him muck out the stable?” Yixing teases. They walk side by side, in step, arms around each other's waists. Lu Han looks nothing like Yixing, he's older but is always confused for the younger brother, his features delicate and his smile disarmingly sweet. Nevertheless, they are often confused for twins. It's not surprising, really, and neither much mind. They are inseparable, after all.

Lu Han shrugs a shoulder, unfazed. “I suppose,” he says. “But he has such nice long legs. And his back. And the bit where those two meet – ” He makes a lewd gesture and Yixing laughs, pushing him away.

“Careful,” Yixing chides, grinning. “What if your future bride hears you talking like that? Aren't you supposed to meet with her in two days time?”

“If it is true love,” Lu Han says, eyes sharp, dark, and amused. “She will ask to join us.” Their laughter echoes in the corridor as Lu Han drags them to the dining room, and Yixing doesn't even mind it when their mother scolds him for not fixing his hair.

-

When next his father suggests that Yixing accompany him to town on some errands, the image of the little glass dragon drifts into Yixing's mind and he finds himself agreeing. His father is a man of little words and the day passes slowly, but it is pleasant enough. Yixing does like to get out and see people, and his father gives him a few sweets to share with the children that run around underfoot in the market. He loves the way they smile.

They're heading home when Yixing catches sight of the glassblower's shop. “Isn't that where you got the dragon?” Yixing asks quickly. It's unlike him to take an interest in the shiny toys his father brings home, and he colours under his father's gaze. “Mother seemed quite taken with it, is all.”

His father is easy. That's all it takes before he is calling out for their driver to stop the carriage and Yixing smiles to himself as he follows him into the shop.

It's a small room, brightly lit to show the wares off to great effect. “Touch nothing,” Yixing's father warns, and Yixing nods. He promptly ignores this, though. It's all so beautiful. 

His father goes to speak to the proprietor, a stout man with a barrel chest, and Yixing wanders through the shop, stopping here and there to touch the smooth glass. There is a shelf of vases Yixing knows his mother would adore, and Yixing lifts one with careful hands. Thin threads of gold spiral from the wide neck down to the narrow bottom. It's beautiful. “Yixing.” His father's voice is stern and Yixing bows his head apologetically, replacing the vase.

He drifts on, and finds what he was looking for. There is a whole case of beautiful little creatures. He sighs to himself as he runs a fingertip down the back of of a winged lion, and he laughs a little. “A unicorn?” he says quietly.

“What's wrong with unicorns?” A voice asks. Yixing glances up to see a face he's never seen before. Arched eyebrows, high cheekbones, round cheeks, and an amused smile on his mouth. If Yixing squints, he supposes he could see the resemblance between this young man and the proprietor. A nephew, perhaps?

“Nothing at all,” Yixing assures him, laughter in his voice. “They are very pretty.”

The young man looks at the glass figurines. “They are, aren't they?” he says. The pride in his expression makes Yixing's eyes widen.

“You made these?” he asks. He carefully picks up the unicorn and examines it, as though somehow he could find some part of this glassblower in his work.

The smile on the young man's face widens, and Yixing's chest clenches. “Do you like them?” There's something easy about his eyes on Yixing, his grin. It pulls Yixing in, makes him lean towards him. He watches the young man's eyes flick towards the glassblower and Yixing's father, and then back. “You can have it, if you'd like,” he tells Yixing, gesturing to the unicorn in his hands.

It startles a quiet laugh out of Yixing. What is he going to with a glass unicorn? It's a silly thing. But the glassblower's apprentice is watching him expectantly, a faint flush on his cheeks, and Yixing's fingers close carefully around the figurine. “I think I would,” he says.

“Yixing.” He has to fight back the disappointment in his belly when his father calls his name. “We need to get home.”

With small, nimble hands, the young man plucks the figurine out of his pocket and wraps it in a scarf. “Be careful with it,” he tells Yixing, his fingers brushing against Yixing's as he hands it back.

“I will,” Yixing says firmly.

“Yixing.”

There is no time. Still, Yixing risks it. He catches the young glassblower's sleeve in his hand before he goes. “Your name?” he pleads quickly, feigning ignorance of his father's annoyed expression. “Do I not get to know who makes this wonderful art?”

He grins, showing Yixing a flash of his gums. “Minseok,” he says. “My name is Minseok.”

A big hand closes around the nape of his neck. “Nice to meet you,” Yixing says breathlessly as his father drags him away.

The whole ride back, Yixing's heart does backflips in his chest, the glass of the figurine warm in his hands. His father eyes the bauble in his hands but says nothing, smiling a little. There is a good chance that Yixing will be coming to town a lot more often from now on. He smiles.


	9. Infinite, Hoya-centric, Hoya/Woohyun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hoya/woohyun  
> pg-13, 1.7k words  
> au. " _pirate au, hoya-centric._ "

“What say you?” Woohyun bellows from below. He's a skinny guy, their first mate, but he's always been noisy. Got a good pair of lungs on him. When Hoya doesn't immediately answer, he shouts again. “Hoya, what say you? What do you see?”

He's not high enough. Hoya scales the mast, calloused hands gripping rope and beams, until he makes it to the crows nest. Hot midday sun beats down on his shoulders and glares off the water so he shields his eyes, squinting outwards. 

“Is it land?” Sungyeol hollers, impatient. “Come on, is it land?”

The ripples on the horizon flicker and solidify into something he can be sure of. “Land ho!” Hoya shouts, joyful, and whoops erupt on the deck below.

Even as he's swinging back down to the deck, Hoya can see Dongwoo grab Myungsoo's hands and jump, making Myungsoo tips his head back and laugh. It's been long enough since they made landfall and all of them are a little giddy at the thought. His feet have barely touched down again when Woohyun barrels into him, carrying him several steps back. “Tortuga!” Woohyun grins, grabbing Hoya by the shoulders and shaking him.

“Tortuga,” Hoya agrees, Woohyun's enthusiasm seeping into him almost by osmosis, dragging the corners of his mouth up in return. Woohyun settles one wiry arm around Hoya's shoulders and pulls him in tight, and Hoya doesn't even mind the sweaty slick press of Woohyun's skin on his bare neck. He's just looking forward to getting drunk and rowdy in a place where he's far less likely to end up in an ocean if he trips.

“Don't celebrate yet, boys,” the Captain tells them from his post behind the wheel. Hoya is never not going to believe that Sunggyu's giant floppy hat isn't ridiculous, but the man is attached to it, and a sailor doesn't argue with his captain. “We still have to get there. Hold 'er steady.” Woohyun's fingers dig into Hoya's bicep. “Shore leave awaits.”

“Aye, cap'n!” The cry is ragged but enthusiastic, then their little crew scatters. There's a good wind, with a bit of luck, they will be there by mid-afternoon.

Woohyun slides away, slapping a hand against Hoya's back. “Bet I can get that sail down faster than yours.” Hoya loves that competitive light in his eyes. There is only one jack on this boat who even hopes to climb as well as Hoya does, and it's Woohyun.

The smile Hoya shows him is all sharp teeth. “Don't you ever get tired of losing?” 

“Oh, so cocky.” They stare at each other for a second and then they bolt apart. Hoya doesn't hesitate as he begins to scale the mast, hands firm and sure with years of practice. He grins when he hears Dongwoo laugh and shout his name. His win is assured.

 

-

 

Boots settle noisily on the table in front of Hoya, rattling his flagon of rum and making him scowl. “Oh, don't be like that,” Woohyun tells him, his smile equal parts infuriatingly smug and pleased. “I won, fair and square.”

He's right, of course, and Hoya wouldn't let something so petty as a lost race ruin his first night on shore in a month. So he rolls his eyes and glares, no heat in his eyes. “You are a poor winner,” he declares. His first drink has already settled in his belly, warm and comfortable. “It was a tie, anyway.”

Woohyun clicks his tongue and grins. “Sure,” he agrees. “Whatever you say.” 

Across the room, Dongwoo has somehow ended up in Sungyeol's lap, hands waving wildly as he tells the barmaid a story. Hoya likes this life, he likes the sea and the work and his fellow pirates. But there's something to be said about a floor that doesn't shift under your feet and the occasional night in a bed that's not made of rope. 

“One drink,” Hoya cautions Woohyun. “That's all I owed you. One drink.” He lifts his own cup to his mouth but before he can drink, there's the plink of a coin tossed into his rum. He frowns and turns.

“Payment owed,” the woman says, and Hoya breaks into a grin.

“My lady,” he says, his tone just shy of truly respectful, climbing to his feet and inclining his head.

He gets a slap to the back of his head in return. “Lee Howon,” Eunji replies. “We heard rumours the _Eternity_ was docked here. How is she treating you?” Her smile is fond, and not for the first time, Hoya marvels at her. It was Eunji's flagship, the _Seven Springs_ , where Hoya first got a taste of the pirating life, and now she commands a fleet. She is younger than he is but has a will of steel, and she is backed by a first mate who would go to the ends of the earth for her. 

“We're looking after him,” Woohyun tells her, and Hoya glances at him sidelong when he hears the trace of challenge in his voice.

“Where's your shadow?” Hoya asks, nudging Woohyun's boots with his cup. He fishes the coin out and pockets it before tipping his head back and draining his rum. “Captain Eunji without her man, what a rare sight.” Next to him, Woohyun is standing in a rush, steadying himself by leaning against the wobbly table and Hoya's shoulder.

Eunji just smiles. “He's fetching the drinks,” she says, like it should be obvious, and Hoya can't help the chuckle that drags out of him. She hasn't changed a bit.

“Do my eyes deceive me?” Inguk is just as enthusiastic as he's ever been, his grin broad and pleased. “It can't be Hoya, he abandoned us for the _Eternity_.” He hands Eunji her flagon and she nods gratefully. “C'mere.”

Hoya finds himself with a mouthful of Inguk's worn jacket as Inguk hauls him in for a ridiculously tight hug. “It's good to see you,” he manages, extricating himself. “Been too long.”

“Aye,” Inguk agrees, but Eunji flicks her head at an empty table.

“Enough talk,” she tells him. “I intend on getting good and drunk tonight. Let's leave these two to their fate. It was good to see you, Howon.” Hoya touches his fingers to his brow in a quick salute, almost out of habit, and she nods, pleased.

When they're gone, Hoya shakes his empty cup. “I need another,” he decides. He looks over at Woohyun with sly eyes. “What was that about, before? 'We're taking good care of him'.”

Before Woohyun can respond, they're interrupted by Myungsoo throwing skinny arms around their necks. He's yelling, something about a card game, and Hoya shrugs. Why not? On a night like tonight, who knows how his luck may turn?

 

-

 

Sungyeol starts it. He usually does, sharp words but all the force and coordination of a baby deer. He's lucky, though, because Sungjong is there, and Dongwoo. Sungjong leaps into the fray with a single-minded intensity, little and lithe and dangerous in a way almost no one expects, and Dongwoo runs to gather the rest of them.

Nothing like a good fight to round out the night. Hoya's drunk, his coordination is a mess and the ground rolls beneath him like they're still at sea, but he's always been a good sailor. Accuracy is easier when he's got the scrawny little fuck pinned beneath his knees, fist hammering into his mouth. There are only five of them, to the _Eternity_ 's crew's seven, but Sungyeol is a wild card at best and Myungsoo can't stand, so it's a fair fight.

Well, as fair as a fight can be, when you're all a bunch of pirates. A hand closes in Hoya's hair and hauls him up, sending pain sparking off behind his eyes. Hoya growls and turns to face his attacker, but Woohyun is already there, knocking him back with quick hands. Blood drips from his hairline but he grins at Hoya. They always fight best back to back, shoulder to shoulder. They each let out a roar and launch themselves back into the fray.

 

-

 

The fight ends with a handful of broken noses but few hard feelings, and Hoya throws himself into a wobbly chair to nurse the bruise he can feel blooming on his jaw. The rum dulls the ache, thankfully. They've had their share of altercations with the crew of the _Dalmatian_ but it's all friendly. After all, Daniel can be as mouthy as Sungyeol. 

“I got you good,” Dongrim says proudly, gesturing to Hoya's face.

Hoya laughs. “You did,” he agrees, and he slides his flagon of rum over. “Your prize.” Dongrim whoops and slaps Hoya on the back good-naturedly, before going back to join his friends.

The alcohol in Hoya's belly has loosened his muscles, making him feel pleasantly relaxed, and he doesn't even startle when Woohyun steps up behind him, resting his hands on his shoulders. He leans his head back until he's got an upside down view of Woohyun's face and he grins. “Thanks,” he says. “I think you saved me from a broken nose.”

Woohyun shrugs. “Couldn't let this pretty face get all bruised up.” He pats Hoya's cheek.

“You're doing a terrible job of that,” Hoya tells him. 

The answer he gets isn't words, but instead a lapful of drunken Woohyun settling against his thighs and catching his mouth in a wet, sloppy kiss. Hoya can taste the rum on his tongue as Woohyun delves into his mouth and he gives as good as he gets, cupping the back of Woohyun's head with a hand as he leans into it.

He's bruised, beat up, and he's going to wake up in the morning with a terrible hangover. Woohyun closes his teeth on Hoya's bottom lip and Hoya grins. Yo ho, he thinks. It's the pirate's life for me.


	10. EXO, Chanyeol/Kai

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chanyeol/kai  
> pg, 5.3k words  
>  _“I'm battling monsters, I'm pulling you out of the burning buildings  
>  and you say I'll give you anything but you never come through.”   
> ― Richard Siken_

“This isn't working out.”

It feels strangely anticlimactic, after all that. All that thinking and wanting and _needing_ and now, when he's finally done it, he feels nothing. Maybe, Chanyeol thinks, maybe that's because this isn't the breaking point. This is the aftermath. Something throbs in his chest, and a dull ache pushes at the back of his eyes. He's so tired.

There's confusion in Jongin's eyes, and a little hurt. A small part of Chanyeol feels gratified for that. “What?” Jongin says, and Chanyeol's smile, already tight, falters. “I don't...” He opens his mouth and closes it, hands fluttering uselessly in his lap. “I thought we were fine?”

Swallowing hard, Chanyeol bolsters his grin and hooks an arm around Jongin's neck. “You don't need me anymore, Jonginnie,” he says, squeezing gently. It's a half-truth, and it makes it easier. Jongin's practices don't stretch twice as long as the number of hours that he sleeps. That's as sure a sign as any. “Don't worry.”

“But I always need you, hyung.” Jongin searches Chanyeol's face for a few long seconds. 

That was never true. Chanyeol lets his arm fall away and his shoulders slump. “I'm still here,” he says. “I just, I don't think it's a good idea if we do this anymore.” He tries to soften it, his smile stretching bigger. “You'll be fine!”

After all of that, Chanyeol thinks that maybe this is the worst part. Jongin watches him with wide-unguarded eyes, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and Chanyeol wants to cry a little, because Jongin honestly doesn't get it. Chanyeol's throat works and he has to remind himself to keep his distance. It helps, of course, that Jongin doesn't reach for him. He doesn't try to bridge the distance widening between them, and even if Chanyeol _knows_ Jongin won't, he still wishes he would. All he wants in the world right now is for Jongin to grab his hand or kiss him or tell him that he's wrong, and Jongin's stillness makes Chanyeol's stomach drop in the worst way. He wishes he was wrong.

“Jongin?” A rap at the door and then Joonmyun is sticking his head into the room. “Come on, it's your turn to shower. You're holding everyone up.” The irritated edge to his voice melts away instantly when he takes in the two of them, perched on the edge of Jongin's bed. “Sorry, am I...?”

Chanyeol shakes his head immediately. “Nope,” he says brightly. He nudges Jongin with his elbow. “We're done.” Jongin's tongue darts out to wet his lips, but he doesn't argue with him. Chanyeol's heart crumples just that little bit further. He hadn't thought he would, but, well. Hope springs eternal. “Go shower, you smell anyway.” The joke is weak, but the corners of Jongin's mouth turns up anyway.

“Shut up,” he says, pushing at Chanyeol's shoulder, but he climbs to his feet and heads to the bathroom.

When he's gone, Chanyeol drops the act. He pushes the heels of his hands into his eyes and curls in on himself. He feels the sadness in his bones, in the ache of his knuckles as he clenches his fingers and the dull throb in his chest. Even if he knew this was inevitable, there had always been a part of him that had hoped that Jongin would fight. Fight for him. The certainty hurts so much more than he'd ever thought it would.

The hand on his shoulder startles him upright. Chanyeol hadn't realized that Joonmyun was still there until he was hovering at his side, eyes hesitant. “Chanyeol?” he says quietly. He's pulled away, hand floating over Chanyeol's shoulder like he wants to pull him in, but he's waiting. 

“I'm fine, hyung,” Chanyeol tells him, even if his voice is hoarse and gives him away, and even if Joonmyun can see the lie of it in the way his hands tremble. “Don't worry,” he says again.

Joonmyun sighs, and he carefully sits down next to Chanyeol. His eyes are so sad and guilt floods Chanyeol's gut. He wants to apologize, but Joonmyun is already shaking his head. “Okay,” he says. He doesn't leave, doesn't move, doesn't say a word. And when Chanyeol's head comes to rest against his shoulder, Joonmyun just rubs his hand rhythmically against his back and lets him shake.

 

-

 

It wasn't always like this. 

Late one night, Chanyeol finds Jongin in the practice room. He's been here too long, Chanyeol can see it in the sweat-drenched shirt that hangs off his shoulders and the way he grits his teeth. He doesn't even look up as Chanyeol comes in, he's lost in dance, face serious, each movement of his body fluid and precise. 

He stumbles to a halt when Chanyeol flicks off the music, eyes hardening. “Time to go home?” Chanyeol suggests, stooping to gather a towel and holding it out to him. 

Sweat streams down Jongin's face, and he pants, open-mouthed, before shaking his head. “I'm not done,” he says, voice grim. He doesn't take the towel until Chanyeol's practically got it shoved into his face, and then he snatches it away, scowling as he wipes at his face. “Turn it back on.” Chanyeol gets a faceful of sweaty towel and Jongin squares his shoulders, facing the mirror. “Turn it back _on_ ,” he says again.

Chanyeol doesn't move. Jongin's face is determined but he's unsteady, and he can't even stand up straight. “No,” Chanyeol says, firmly this time. “C'mon, man. You know we've got an early wake up call tomorrow.”

“Hyung, please,” Jongin says, and Chanyeol's not used to pleading coming from someone like him. “I just – ” He pushes his sweat-slick hair out of his eyes and wavers. “I almost have it.”

The towel in his hands is damp and Chanyeol hesitates. “Come on,” he says again. When he wraps an arm around Jongin's shoulders, Jongin pushes at him, but it's half-hearted. Chanyeol just tightens his arm and drags him to the door, only stopping to scoop up Jongin's bag. Somewhere in the middle, Jongin ends up leaning against him, fingers tight in the material of Chanyeol's oversized hoodie. 

Chanyeol's chest does a funny lurch when Jongin's face scrunches up with every step. “Idiot,” he says, almost without thinking. He gets a glare in return, Jongin wiggling out from under his arm to stand on his own. “Well, you are,” Chanyeol says. He presses one hand to the small of Jongin's back and watches him wince. “You know we have to perform tomorrow, right?”

He only holds on for a second too long when Jongin determinedly tugs his bag out of his hand. “I just...” Jongin's never been good with words. He waves a hand and shifts away from Chanyeol, his eyes glued on the floor. “I almost had it.”

It's late, and kind of cold, and Chanyeol watches Jongin from the corner of his eye as they wait for their car. “You're stupid.” Jongin's head snaps up, face hard. “You had it like, a week ago. You're always the first one to get it, and you're lightyears ahead of the rest of us anyway. This is just you being stubborn and dumb.”

The van pulls up and Jongin stares at Chanyeol for so long that Chanyeol flushes and swallows. “What?” Jongin says. He sounds bewildered but Chanyeol just climbs into the car.

“Nothing,” Chanyeol replies. It's just the two of them, but Jongin slides into the seat next to him, throwing his bag into the middle row. 

By the flashes of yellow street lights, Chanyeol sees Jongin watching him in the dark of the van. There's something shifting in his belly, something big and dangerous. He feels like if he lets it go, get momentum, it'll never stop. His hands grip at the material of his track pants and he swallows.

Jongin only looks away when he nods off for a second, head falling against Chanyeol's shoulder. When they pull up to the dorm, Jongin jerks awake, wiping his mouth and blinking at Chanyeol, wide-eyed. “Quit staring,” Chanyeol tells him, covering his unease with a broad grin. “Hurry up and get out, I want to get some sleep tonight.”

“Shut up,” Jongin says automatically, his face already shutting down as he slips out of the van. They jostle shoulders as they make their way to the door, but when Chanyeol toes off his sneakers and turns the doorknob to his room, he could swear Jongin is watching him. 

Chanyeol is exhausted, but he lays awake and stares at the ceiling for too long, feeling like somewhere in the last hour his anchor slipped loose and now he's been set adrift.

 

-

 

They don't talk about it. Jongin keeps sneaking looks at Chanyeol when he thinks he's not looking, but he never says a word. He's always been pretty good at dodging anything that might involve him having to talk about anything uncomfortable, and he long ago perfected the art of never being alone with someone who's trying to corner him.

Chanyeol doesn't bother to try. That doesn't mean it doesn't grate on his nerves, though. He hates the way that this tension has sparked up between them because he has no idea how to resolve it. Jongin is simultaneously slippery and prickly, sliding away from Chanyeol and refusing to laugh at his jokes. It's so frustrating and Chanyeol is helpless to fix it.

The first time they're alone in over a week, it's pure coincidence. He's stuck in that place between asleep and awake, legs in motion to get himself a drink, but he's barely even thinking. His knees collide with Jongin's feet, hanging off the end of couch, and it takes him a few seconds to process what he's seeing.

“Watch where you're going.” Jongin's voice is slurred with sleep and he only pushes himself up to glare at Chanyeol.

Squinting down at him, Chanyeol drags a hand through his hair. “Why are you out here?”

Dragging his blanket up over his shoulders, Jongin shrugs. “Too hot. Couldn't sleep,” he says. He squeezes his eyes shut, burying his nose in his arms. It's a dismissal, and Chanyeol can't pretend like it doesn't sting. 

He mutters an apology and shuffles into the kitchen. He's awake now, as much as he wishes he wasn't. He pours himself a glass of water and leans against the counter as he drinks it. The light of the kitchen spills into the dark living room and Chanyeol can see Jongin scrunch his sock-covered toes up, and something in his chest clenches. 

The cup of tea doesn't take long to make, and he's sure to make it sweet, just like Jongin likes. This time, when Chanyeol heads into the living room, he skirts around Jongin's feet and carefully sets the mug down on the coffee table. “If you still can't sleep,” he whispers.

A hand darts out from under Jongin's blanket and catches his wrist and Chanyeol freezes, blinking. “Wait,” Jongin says, and Chanyeol sinks down to squat next to Jongin's head. He waits patiently, and Jongin twists to face him, bangs a mess from static and sleep. “What did.” Jongin clears his throat. Chanyeol can barely see him in the dark, but he can see the shine when Jongin licks his lips. A nervous habit. “What did you mean, before? In the van?”

His voice is tense, anxious, but Chanyeol is at a complete loss. The tight line of Jongin's shoulders tell Chanyeol that he's worried, afraid of what Chanyeol will say, which makes absolutely _no_ sense to him. The question is innocuous enough, if a bit silly, at least to Chanyeol. “What do you – I said what I meant?” And he _had_ , which is why he doesn't get Jongin's confusion. “I don't understand.”

Jongin's fingers rest warm and tight against his wrist. The silence stretches so long that Chanyeol doesn't know if Jongin's just nodded off again, and he shifts to stand up. Jongin's voice stops him in his tracks. “You meant it.” His words are slow and he sounds small and confused. Chanyeol gently pries his fingers from his wrist, holding his hand between his. 

“Well, yeah,” he agrees easily, laughing a little. Jongin doesn't answer but a little smile is curling the corners of Chanyeol's mouth up, because Jongin isn't pulling his hand away. 

After several long seconds, it's clear that Jongin isn't going to explain himself, so Chanyeol clears his throat. “Um. Do you think you can sleep now?” If Joonmyun comes out in the morning and finds Jongin asleep on the couch again, he'll do his whole worried leader thing, and none of them want that.

“I guess.” Gathering the blanket around his shoulders, Jongin sits up and he lets Chanyeol lead him to his room. The tea sits on the table, abandoned, and Chanyeol wants to do something about it, but Jongin bumps his shoulder against his and he forgets all about it. “Hey, do you...” Jongin falls silent

It doesn't take long for Chanyeol to realize that he's not going to finish that question and he pushes Jongin into his bedroom. “Go sleep,” he says fondly, but Jongin doesn't go on his own. He makes Chanyeol nudge him forward until he reaches his bed, and then pushes him down. “I'm not reading you a bedtime story.”

“I wasn't asking for one,” Jongin hisses back, finally crawling into bed. 

Chanyeol tugs the sheet up to his chin and sweeps Jongin's bangs out of his eyes, his heart doing that fluttery thing when he hears Jongin inhale sharply. “Sleep, dummy.” His hand is batted away, and then caught. Jongin squeezes his fingers tightly for a second before letting go, sheets rustling as he withdraws his hand. “Good night,” Chanyeol whispers.

He's out the door when he hears the faint whisper in reply. “Night, hyung.” When Chanyeol climbs back into his own bed, he has to wait for the rebellious thoughts in his head to stop circling before he can get back to sleep. It's simultaneously thrilling and kind of terrifying.

 

-

 

“ _Hyung_ , that's _cheating_ ,” Jongin whines, trying to keep one eye on the screen and the other on Chanyeol's arms. Really, Chanyeol didn't have to resort to these measures, he's already the Mario Kart champion, but he liked to get up close and rile Jongin up. He digs his elbows into Jongin's ribs every chance he gets, and knocks his arm into Jongin's shoulder just to throw him off.

A competitive Jongin is one who's flushed and grinning, shoving back and yelping his complaints. “No fair,” he declares, and Chanyeol promptly ignores him. He's nearly at the finish line anyway, but it's fun to hear Jongin whine.

“I'm going to win anyway,” Chanyeol tells him. “Does it matter how I do it?” Jongin shouts with frustration, eyes bright and sharp, and he tosses the controller aside, abandoning it to pin Chanyeol to the couch. 

It's not what Chanyeol was expecting. He squawks, Jongin's hands pressing flat against his shoulders and holding him down. “Cheaters don't deserve to win,” Jongin says, settling his weight against Chanyeol's waist and grinning triumphantly.

Every time Chanyeol tries to raise his hands to finish the race, Jongin knocks them away and finally, he just gives up. “Now who's a cheater?” he grumbles, and Jongin digs his thumbs into his shoulders hard enough to make him yelp.

“Shut up, hyung,” Jongin says. He's looking down at Chanyeol, and Jongin takes a deep breath, the way he does before they go out to an interview or a fanmeet and he's steeling himself to smile his way through it.

“What are you – ” In one lightning fast movement, Jongin darts down to press his mouth against Chanyeol's. It's fast and hard and then Jongin's straightening up again. He presses a finger against his bottom lip. Old habits die hard. “Huh.”

“Sorry.” Jongin moves to climb off the couch but Chanyeol catches him with a hand in the front of his worn t-shirt. It's enough to stop Jongin cold, his throat working and eyes wide with fear.

Chanyeol shakes his head. “No,” he says quickly, and Jongin relaxes just a fraction. Fingers tightening in Jongin's shirt, Chanyeol tugs hard enough to let Jongin know what he wants but not make him feel trapped. “Is this. Do you want this?”

Jongin's gaze is everywhere but on Chanyeol, desperately looking for an escape route. “Yes,” he says hoarsely.

“Okay,” Chanyeol says, and Jongin's eyes snap back to him. He hovers and Chanyeol pulls at his shirt again. “Okay.”

Hesitant fingers trace their way down the line of Chanyeol's nose, then his chin, and then Jongin is curling down, fitting his mouth to Chanyeol's. He lets Jongin control it all, hands pressing firmly against Chanyeol's ribs as he cautiously licks into his mouth. It sets off a roaring between Chanyeol's ears and his heart races out of control.

When Jongin straightens again, he has Chanyeol's face cupped in his palms. His face is astonished and pleased. “That was nice,” Chanyeol tells him breathlessly, and the smile Jongin flashes at him is like sunshine dawning on his face. Something in Chanyeol's chest melts away, irrevocably, and he can't even bring himself to care.

 

-

 

After that, there's an almost visible shift. Jongin has always been a little bit prickly, and he's always played favourites. And when Chanyeol goes from being someone who gets along with Jongin tolerably well to being _Jongin's_ , it's a place he's never been in before.

It takes some getting used to, but he likes it. When they land in Incheon after SMTown Hong Kong, the fans are as noisy and rowdy as ever. Chanyeol tries to make the best of it, putting on a broad smile and nodding politely as he shifts his bag from one hand to the other. He's exhausted, they all are, worn down from the flight and the concert, and he doesn't even startle when he feels a hand grip the sleeve of his jacket.

Chanyeol hopes that his tiredness will mask the way that his throat tightens and a flush threatens to spread across his face. Jongin hates crowds and he _loathes_ airports, and it's not the first time he's used one of them as a human shield against the noise and the eyes and the cameras. It's the first time he's reached for Chanyeol, though, and that knowledge makes Chanyeol a little bit lightheaded.

Jongin only lets go when he has to, and when they're climbing into the van he physically knocks Sehun out of the way so he can sit next to Chanyeol. Sehun glowers at him. “There are these things called words,” he says conversationally. “You should try them.”

“Yeah, okay,” Jongin says. When he settles down in the backseat, he's pressed closer to Chanyeol than is really necessary, thigh pressed up against Chanyeol's. “Me Jongin,” Jongin grunts and points at himself. “You dickbag.” Sehun throws his hat at him as he climbs into the middle seat but he lets Joonmyun quiet him, throwing himself down sullenly.

“Nice,” Chanyeol says to Jongin.

Jongin shrugs a shoulder, but he's avoiding Chanyeol's eye. “Wanted to sit here.” His fingers twitch against his legs, like he's holding them back, and he clears his throat. “Next to you,” he adds. Even though his voice is pitched just for Chanyeol's ears, Jongin sounds like he had to fight to get the words out.

Chanyeol rewards him with a broad grin. His hand drifts to brush up against Jongin's, and he watches him flinch away. His stomach clenches in a sickening way. It's okay, Chanyeol reminds himself. Jongin's weird about these touching things. It has to be on his terms. It still stings, though, especially since every time Jongin looks at him with shy eyes all Chanyeol wants to do is grab him and drag him in for a kiss, no matter where they are.

He takes solace though, in the warm press of Jongin against his side, and when, halfway back to the dorm, Jongin curls his pinky around his. When Chanyeol looks over, Jongin is studiously feigning sleep, but the tiny, satisfied smile gives him away. Chanyeol turns to look out the window, squeezing Jongin's finger in return and grinning to himself.

 

-

 

They never really talk about it. When Jongin holds up all of them by refusing to get out of bed until the last possible second, it still grates on Chanyeol's nerves. Jongin still snaps when Chanyeol steps left when he should be sliding right in dance practice. 

Still, things have changed. When it's Chanyeol who comes to wake Jongin up, he still grumbles, but he actually climbs out of bed. After practice, Jongin apologizes the only way he knows how, pressing his sweaty forehead against Chanyeol's shoulder and smiling, hesitantly. And how could Chanyeol hold a grudge against that?

The thing is, it's not that Chanyeol is a romantic or anything, but he always thought that when he met someone he really wanted to be with, everything would still slide into place. And it hasn't, really. He keeps trying to tell himself that it's enough, that eventually they'll both adjust, but it bothers him far more than he lets on.

They have a rare few hours off one day, and Baekhyun and Joonmyun disappear to M's dorm to hang out with Yifan and Zitao. It's the first time that they've really had time off since this thing between him and Jongin started, and Chanyeol's hopeful that maybe they'll get to spend it together. He makes his way to Jongin's room and leans against the door frame. “Hey,” he says, deliberately casual. “Got any plans?”

Jongin looks up, he flashes him a smile. Chanyeol's heart is making a valiant effort to tap dance out of his chest. “No,” he says, and he climbs to his feet. He's always so cautious about touching Chanyeol, but every time he presses his nose to Chanyeol's jaw or his fingertips skate up the inside of Chanyeol's arm, the contact leaves fire in its wake. “Do you?”

There is no controlling the grin that spreads across Chanyeol's face. He turns towards Jongin, almost close enough to catch Jongin's mouth in a kiss, but he doesn't want to scare him off. He's about to suggest they steal Joonmyun's laptop and watch movies in bed, or do anything that involves them being close in a dark room. Unfortunately, he's interrupted when Sehun bellows Jongin's name from the kitchen. “We're going to grab something to eat,” he calls. “You guys coming?”

Jongin's eyes light up at the prospect of a good meal, and he knocks his shoulder against Chanyeol's. “That sounds like plans,” he says, and there's not a shred of malice in the way that he grabs a jacket and slides past Chanyeol, and runs to join Sehun and Kyungsoo in the kitchen. “C'mon, hyung.”

The disappointment winds into Chanyeol's chest immediately, and he tries to stamp it down. “Just a second,” he replies. He runs to his room to grab a coat and follows them out the door. Jongin's arm brushes up against his as they walk, and it sets off such a weird mix of sparks and confusion in him that he almost gets vertigo.

It's not like he doesn't like hanging out with Sehun and Kyungsoo, or going out to eat, but Chanyeol had kind of been looking forward to have Jongin all to himself. He'd been hoping that maybe, with the time alone, it would give Jongin the courage to inch closer, let Chanyeol fit his fingers between his. And of course, if he was really lucky, he'd been hoping for a chance to get familiar with the taste of Jongin's mouth. 

Instead, here he is, trying to content himself with the fact that he's getting a real meal and that Jongin had insisted that Chanyeol sit next to him, tugging him down so forcefully that Chanyeol had almost fallen on top of him. When Chanyeol oh so casually curls a hand around Jongin's knee, though, Jongin flinches and stares at him, wide-eyed and panicked, until Chanyeol withdraws his hand.

It's fine, Chanyeol tells himself. They're in public and Jongin's always been picky about it anyway. But they're friends, and the touch could've passed for casual anyway, and while the rest of them laugh and chat, Chanyeol pastes on a smile and ignores the growing hollow ache in his chest.

 

-

 

The little things build up. Each one digs into Chanyeol's chest until sometimes just being around Jongin makes him tense up in painful anticipation. Jongin is such a contradiction. One minute, he's watching Chanyeol with eyes so alight with promise it leaves Chanyeol squirming; the next he's pulling his hand out of Chanyeol's the instant Sehun calls him over to watch some dance video. 

Chanyeol is starting to get whiplash, and he doesn't know what to do. It's spilling into everything he does, and more and more he finds he has to push his smiles wider just to keep them from flagging. It hurts in this nagging, lingering ache that he can't shake off, stealing his sleep and his peace. 

One night, when Jongin stays late for dance practice again, Chanyeol finds himself lounging around in his room with Baekhyun. It's been a while since they hung out, and Baekhyun is sprawled on his belly in his bed, chin propped up on one hand. “Who stole your smile?” he asks, eyes searching.

Chanyeol opens his mouth, caught off-guard, and then closes it, flashing him a grin. “It's right here,” he tells him.

Baekhyun has always been far too quick for that. “Don't try that model idol mask crap on me, please,” he scoffs. His eyes are sharp and a bit sad, and Chanyeol feels guilty. He's never felt good keeping secrets from Baekhyun. “I miss happy Chanyeol. I miss seeing you light up.”

“I'm not sad,” Chanyeol protests, but as soon as the words are out of his mouth, he hears the lie of it, and that scares him. Jongin makes him happy, but as much as it scares him to admit it, that's only sometimes. “I'm fine.”

Baekhyun's mouth twists unhappily. “Okay,” he says. He's not pretending that he buys that, but he's going to let it slide. “I'll believe that when you quit wandering around like a kicked puppy.” Chanyeol bites his lip and when he's not forthcoming with an explanation, Baekhyun sighs, hurt. 

“I'm sorry,” Chanyeol says, a bit miserably. Baekhyun just nods and Chanyeol swallows back the feeling like maybe the negatives are starting to outweigh the positives in this thing he has with Jongin, whatever it is. It's a horrible, creeping feeling, one that sinks into his chest and refuses to let Chanyeol shake it off.

 

-

 

He does make an attempt to talk to Jongin about it. They're stuck in the airport one morning, killing time before they board the flight home from Malaysia, and Jongin has dragged Chanyeol off to one corner, away from the noise that Jongdae and Baekhyun are making, so he can doze on Chanyeol's shoulder. It's as good a time as any, Chanyeol supposes.

“Hey, can we talk?”

Jongin hums sleepily, and Chanyeol can tell when he opens his eyes by the way that his eyelashes brush across his throat. It stirs up butterflies in Chanyeol's belly and he exhales shakily.

“Is this...” It takes Chanyeol a few seconds to fit together the words the way he wants to, and it's mostly because he doesn't want to scare Jongin away. Sure, it hurts. But then Jongin curls up to him on the couch after dance practice, sweaty and tired and so sweet and Chanyeol melts all over again, all for that smile. “Is this what you want?”

Jongin straightens, rubbing sleepily at his eyes. “What do you mean?” he mumbles.

“I mean, you pull away when I try to hold your hand,” Chanyeol says hesitantly. “And we never really get a lot of time to y'know, be together.” He wishes they weren't in public right now. He can see the long lenses of fansite cameras and Baekhyun is carefully pretending not to be watching them. He sighs.

Jongin blinks at him. “But we can't do that stuff in public,” he says. “What if someone found out?” A thought occurs to Jongin and he freezes suddenly, eyes wary. “Why? Is something wrong?”

“No,” Chanyeol's mouth says without his volition. He pastes on that smile again and Jongin relaxes. Chanyeol wishes he wouldn't. He wishes that just this once, Jongin would read his body language and he'd know what Chanyeol was trying to communicate. “Just thinking,” he adds.

The plane ride back is a nightmare. Jongin claims the seat next to Chanyeol and drools on his shoulder but Chanyeol can't sleep. Like this, he can't move, staying steady so that Jongin can catch a few more precious hours of sleep. It gives him too much time to stew over the things that have already been swimming around in his head.

Something has to give, that much is for sure. He can't do this for too much longer. He could never deny the warmth that Jongin's smile sets sparking off in his chest, or the way that Jongin's possessive fingers around his wrist can erase the exhaustion from a day of hard practice. The thing is, Jongin has an uncanny talent of casually snuffing that warmth out.

He's well-meaning, but Jongin is careless, hurtful in a way he doesn't even intend. Somehow, that almost makes it worse. If Jongin were malicious, if he intended to make Chanyeol ache the way that he does, then it would be so easy for him to just pull away, cut this off. But he doesn't, and instead Chanyeol is left confused and hurting and, if he's honest, wanting something he's not sure he'll ever get.

That thought, once clarified, hits Chanyeol like a punch in the gut. Jongin is stubborn and contrary, loathe to change, and how can Chanyeol know that this will ever be different? Can he spend his life waiting for Jongin to come to him when it suits him? He knows the answer to that, of course, but he doesn't want to. He doesn't want to, because it makes his chest clench painfully and tears threaten at the corner of his eyes.

When they touch down in Korea, Chanyeol is numb. He feels tired and worn and when Jongin grins at him, the best he can manage is a ghost of a smile. 

He justifies it by telling himself that it's better this way, for everyone. Sometimes these things aren't meant to be. Still, the hollow throb in his chest won't go away. “Are you alright?” Joonmyun asks him softly, right before he climbs into the van. Jongin is holding an earbud out for Chanyeol, watching him expectantly.

“Jetlagged, maybe?” Chanyeol offers, and Joonmyun accepts it with a nod. He slides in next to Jongin, and now when he presses up against Chanyeol's side, Chanyeol is so seized with hurt and regret for what could have been he wants to cry. He listens to Jongin's terrible dubstep without complaint, dodging Baekhyun's prying eyes and forcing a smile.

He knows that sometimes Jongin likes to curl up in bed after a flight, just zone out and do nothing, but Chanyeol catches his arm before he can slip into his bedroom. “Hey,” he says. “Do you have a moment?”

Jongin smiles and nods, and in his eyes, Chanyeol can see it all end.


	11. EXO, Kai/Luhan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kai/luhan  
> pg, 1.3k words  
> prompt was [this](http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m9ucygsFvQ1qb2dd6o1_1280.jpg) picture. au, kai is coincidence, luhan is fate

As jobs go, Jongin supposes it isn't that bad. He kinda has to spend a lot of time with people, but he's mostly on the outside. He gets to watch, waiting for _just_ the right moment to make his move. There aren't a whole lot of rules, and he gets to work on the fly, choosing whose lives to change, who to steer wherever he pleases. And of course, there's nothing like the feeling of choosing exactly right, of setting someone's life on the right path, just because of one single moment. It feels good.

Like right now. Jongin has been watching this guy for a couple of weeks now. He'd bumped into the man in an elevator, but it'd been the man who'd apologized to him, quickly and profusely, and flashed Jongin a lopsided smile. There had been something sad there, and it stuck with Jongin, itching at the back of his mind until he found himself slipping into the shadows and trailing after him.

His name is Joonmyun. He's small, fine-boned, with a thousand watt smile that he turns on everyone and everything, from the girl who serves him coffee to his neighbour in the next cubicle. Jongin finds that he's unfailingly polite, never misses a deadline, and when his boss piles the paperwork up on his desk, he never complains.

He seems to live a very small life. He gets along tolerably well with a couple of coworkers, but his only close friend is a busy lawyer with a sharp tongue and a smile like a cat, and from what Jongin can see, he's got atrocious luck in the romance department. Joonmyun goes home to an empty apartment and a little dog, and it makes Jongin sad. He seems to be a nice guy. He deserves a little something more.

After a week, Jongin thinks he's got it. There's a freakishly tall, model handsome type working the floor above Joonmyun, in HR. He likes his men short and sweet and Jongin is _certain_ it's a perfect match. Time to get to work.

He drifts through Joonmyun's building, stealing the coffee off someone's desk as he makes his way to the tall man's office. He drags his fingers across the nameplate ('Yifan', Jongin reads) and it only takes a nudge before Yifan straightens. Jongin's touch has stirred something in his head, an idea coalescing. He has some paperwork he needs to take to accounting. Yifan could, of course, just get someone else to do it, but maybe today he wants the walk. 

Jongin follows Yifan as he makes his way downstairs, heading right for senior accountant Kim Joonmyun's desk. Another job well done, he thinks to himself, pleased.

It seems he spoke too soon, though. Just as Yifan reaches Joonmyun's desk, a courier does too. He deposits an _enormous_ flower bouquet and hands over the card and Yifan makes a detour to Joonmyun's neighbour, not wanting to intrude. 

Jongin's shoulders slump, and he opens his mouth and then closes it, uselessly. Joonmyun is beaming down at the little card, his smile more wide and genuine than Jongin has ever seen it, but still, irritation prickles at the back of Jongin's neck. It was perfect. What went wrong?

“So slow.” The voice at his ear is lilting, teasing, and Jongin turns to see Lu Han, grinning at him, wide and smug. “That's the best you can do?”

Jongin bristles. “Goddamnit, Lu Han.” Of _course_. Lu Han and his stupid intricate little plans.

Lu Han shrugs a shoulder, nonchalant. “He and Jongdae have known each other since they were kids. I set them on this path long ago.” He pats Jongin's elbow. “I just beat you to it.” The pleased curve to Lu Han's eyes is driving Jongin nuts, and making his stomach shift unpleasantly. Every time Lu Han shows up, he has this effect on Jongin, setting him off balance. For someone who is supposed to be the embodiment of the slow, inexorable, and inevitable, Lu Han seems to do everything in his power to knock Jongin off his footing.

In front of them, Joonmyun is turning the little card over in his hands and admiring his flowers, and next to him, Yifan is flustered and tongue-tied by the brash, boyish accountant he's speaking to. Jongin wonders if this, the way the girl looks up at Yifan and grins, if this is Lu Han's work, but he suddenly has no desire to know. 

Lu Han has been beating him to the punch _every single time_ lately, and it's starting to drive Jongin up the wall. First, it was pretty Baekhyun and that styling job (Jongin was pushing his tall, gangly boyfriend to suggest it, but thanks to Lu Han Baekhyun had seen the ad all on his own), then it was Zitao (and that one _stung_ , Jongin had almost gotten him published, and then Lu Han had to go and nudge him towards a job in the United States). And now this! It's getting ridiculous. 

“Go away,” Jongin grumbles. “You ruin everything.” He's getting tired of these near misses, of never quite getting to save the day, and he's even more sick of Lu Han always popping up. Always with that pleased smile, and always making Jongin's heart rattle around in his ribs. He hates him.

“Well,” Lu Han says. “Not everything, clearly. I seem to be doing pretty well down here.” 

Jongin watches Joonmyun toy with a flower petal and glowers. “Whatever,” he says. He needs to find another posting. Can you get another job when you're the physical embodiment of an intangible concept? Jongin sure hopes so.

He sets down his stolen coffee mug and turns to leave, but Lu Han catches his arm. When he turns to look at him, Lu Han looks genuinely contrite. It makes Jongin pause, his irritation burning down to a slow simmer. “Sorry,” Lu Han says, and Jongin bites his lip, searching his face. He can't decide if Lu Han is being honest, but part of him tells him he is. “I didn't mean to steal your thunder.”

“Again,” Jongin points out, sullen.

“Again,” Lu Han agrees. 

Jongin would like to say that he's strong in the face of Lu Han, but he's so not. Lu Han hasn't taken his hand away from Jongin's arm, fingers curled warmly around his elbow, and he looks earnest, and it's doing stupid things to Jongin's stomach. “'s fine,” he says finally, clearing his throat.

“This one was mostly an accident,” Lu Han admits. “You were unlucky.”

Jongin eyes him warily. “And the rest?”

Lu Han shrugs a shoulder. “Well. I had to get your attention somehow, didn't I?”

“What?” Jongin chokes out. His breath catches in his throat and he blinks at Lu Han, eyes wide. “I. You did this on purpose?”

The flush that spreads across Lu Han's cheeks is simultaneously gratifying and a little bit scary. “Well, yes.” He tips his head. “You didn't really think it was all an accident, did you?”

“I, uh.” Jongin's words don't really seem to want to come out. “I am Coincidence, you know.”

“Yes,” Lu Han agrees. He takes a step forward and Jongin shivers. “And I'm Fate.” His lips are so close to Jongin's and it makes him swallow, hard. He doesn't step away, though. “I've always got a plan.”

Jongin lets him close the distance between them, Lu Han's hand coming up to cup his chin and hold him steady, and well, maybe Jongin can get behind this whole grand plan thing.


	12. EXO, Kai-centric

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kai-centric (kai/yixing, kai/luhan, kai/chanyeol, kai/kris)  
> pg-13, 2.6k words  
> au. _"Traveling is like flirting with life. It's like saying, 'I would stay and love you, but I have to go; this is my station."_

In a cafe in France, Jongin wonders if he should have taken Sehun up on that offer for company. It's only been a week, but already it's a bit lonely. His french is atrocious, the hostel is noisy, and he doesn't know how to order anything. Still, Paris is beautiful and it's exhilarating, being so far from home and all on his own. Sink or swim time.

Jongin is toying with his coffee when he catches someone watching him thoughtfully, a little smile on his face. His name is Lu Han. He's Chinese, but fluent in Korean, in Paris on an internship and sharp and quick to laugh. Jongin is charmed by the way that his whole face pulls out of shape when he throws back his head and laughs and by the end of the night he finds himself breathless and spread out underneath Lu Han's nimble fingers.

They spend a few days together, Lu Han's fingers wound into Jongin's as they explore the back streets and find little restaurants to try out. Lu Han's french is hardly better than Jongin's, but he's fearless in a way that Jongin isn't sure he ever will be. He approaches the shop owners without flinching and somehow manages to make himself understood through sheer bravado.

Jongin stands back and watches, and he can't decide if the feeling in his chest is admiration or something more. He does know, though, that his heart clenches when Lu Han looks back at him, with a smile meant just for him. He knows he likes the way that Lu Han's hand finds his, and the uncanny way he seems to know exactly how to use his teeth to make Jongin keen and pant.

They part when Jongin leaves for Germany. There's a tiny, romantic part of Jongin that expects sorrow, regret, but Lu Han just presses his fingertips to Jongin's jaw and kisses him gently. “Have fun on the rest of your trip,” he tells Jongin, and when Jongin smiles back at him, it's genuine. This was a moment in time, one he will always remember, but it's over now.

“I will,” he promises, and Lu Han beams.

 

-

 

By the time he reaches Berlin, Jongin is adjusting. One day, he leaves his bag in the hostel and wanders down the Spree with his camera. He still doesn't know how to use it. He pauses to fiddle with the lens, holding it up to his face as he plays with the focus. As the view goes from blurry to sharp, he realizes that he's got his camera pointed at someone. He jerks it down, flushing.

“See something you like?” the man calls. He smiles and Jongin is taken aback by the sheer stretch of his mouth, his clean white teeth and happy crease to his eyes. 

Chanyeol is on vacation with his family. He's got the enthusiasm of a puppy, nudging Jongin too hard with his knuckles and whining at him to take his picture. Chanyeol waves at kids and gets excited over the littlest things. It simultaneously grates on Jongin's nerves and appeals to him, inexplicably charming even though he's so childish. 

They meet up on Chanyeol's last day before his family head back to Seoul and Jongin, in a fit of generosity, buys them both ice cream. Before they even get a block away, Chanyeol bumps Jongin's arm and knocks his ice cream out of his hand. “Ah shit,” Jongin sighs, looking down forlornly at the mess.

“Take mine,” Chanyeol says, without hesitation. “It's only fair.” Jongin doesn't really want to take Chanyeol's ice cream away from him, but he's holding it out, eyebrows raised expectantly, and he somehow finds himself taking it. It's already melting and running down the sides of the cone, making his fingers sticky and gross, but Chanyeol's smile is so pleased that Jongin can't bring himself to be truly annoyed.

At the end of the day, Chanyeol looks a little wilted, and Jongin does feel a little sad. They exchange phone numbers and promise to text, but Jongin knows he won't. The awkward tension stretches between them, Chanyeol's shoulders have drooped, and he drags the toe of his sneaker across paving stones. It's intolerable. 

“Hey, smile?” Jongin says, and when Chanyeol looks up at him, his confused look shifts into a blindingly bright smile in a flash. Jongin snaps the photo quickly, and he's pleased with how well it turns out. Putting his camera away, Jongin reaches for Chanyeol's hand. 

It's almost whim that pushes him to kiss Chanyeol, fast and light, but it's worth it. At least now, when Chanyeol heads back to his hotel and his parents, he's not sad anymore. Jongin couldn't stand it if the last time he saw Chanyeol, he was sad, and it was Jongin's fault.

He heads to Italy three days later, and it's almost not soon enough. He's restless, anxious, and it's time to move on. He doesn't know what he's looking for, but Berlin doesn't have it.

 

-

 

He's not sure what he was expecting in Venice, but it is most certainly beautiful. It's expensive, too. Jongin buys massive slices of pizza and licks the sauce off his fingers, pleased with himself. He's trying to clean off the side of his hand when he hears someone click their tongue. “Messy,” the man chides, and Jongin could choose to be annoyed. Thing is, the man is tall, handsome and well-dressed, and as it turns out, fluent in Italian, and Jongin can't ignore the way he feels drawn to him.

Yifan takes Jongin under his wing. Despite the stern slant of his brow, he's easy for Jongin's pout, his will crumbling under Jongin's persuasion. Jongin spends two weeks in Venice, and half of that is lazy mornings in Yifan's apartment, woken up by big hands walking up his spine and the wet press of Yifan's mouth.

He talks Yifan into coming with him on silly tourist things. They catch a gondola across the city one evening, headed to dinner, and Yifan leans in, singing softly into Jongin's ear. He's not a good singer, but he's clearly trying to be romantic, and Jongin laughs and kisses him fiercely.

They spend their last night over wine and good food. Jongin lets Yifan order, because he seems to know what he's talking about, and when he listens to him chat with the waiter in a language he can't understand, Jongin's tempted, for once, to stay.

It would be easy, he thinks. There's something effortless about spending time with Yifan. There's a give and take that comes naturally, and he has to admit, he likes the way that Yifan gently takes charge, and the possessive press of his big hands on him.

But still, the next morning, Jongin moves on. He's got a flight to London first thing, and when responsible Yifan drags his feet, he feels a stab of regret. “I won't forget you,” Jongin promises him, voice soft in Yifan's cramped little kitchen. He has Yifan backed up against the counter, his hands fitted to Yifan's hips, and he's certain he'll miss this.

“You're going to be late,” Yifan says, as if it's an answer, but he lets Jongin pull him down for a kiss, even if it does mess up his hair. 

On the plane, Jongin looks out the window, heart rattling around in his chest, and fights back the rising panic. He hopes he's not making a mistake.

 

-

 

He's a little subdued in London. At least here, here he can fumble his way through ordering a meal, and he takes up his camera again. The summer is winding down, and Jongin can feel the impending end of his trip, and the approaching return to Seoul, and it casts a pall over his trip. 

The postcard he decides to send Sehun is goofy and vague, but writing it out makes him miss home and his best friend once again. He camps out on a corner of the tiny shop he bought the postcard in to write it out, and the guy behind the counter wanders over. “You're from Seoul?” he asks and he smiles.

Yixing's Korean is a mess, and Jongin's English is even worse, but Jongin doesn't actually mind. He's always got a smile for Jongin when he drops by the little shop he works for, and this amazing dimple that Jongin is fascinated by. It's hard for Jongin to keep his distance when Yixing catches his hand to pour the change into his palm, eyes bright, and slips him sweets to keep him going through the day. Jongin's weak, but when Yixing cracks lame Korean puns just to make Jongin smile, he can't help but ask Yixing when he gets off work.

This time, it's Yixing who insists that Jongin do all the tourist things. Even when Jongin's tired from wandering around all day long, he lets Yixing curl delicate fingers into his and drag him onto a double decker bus, just to say they'd done it. “I've lived here all my life,” Yixing explains. “But I've never gotten to do these things.” His smile sets off fireworks in Jongin's chest.

He's not sure why, but even with the language barrier, Jongin doesn't have any trouble understanding Yixing. There's something about the way that he moves that's familiar to Jongin, like his body language is a language Jongin's been fluent in since birth. When they find a shared history in dance, it clicks into place. 

It really _is_ a common language between them, a way to communicate. Jongin knows he's never been very good at hiding how he feels, but it seems like no time at all before Yixing is an expert at reading him. He picks up when Jongin is tired and knows just when to cut in when Jongin is getting frustrated with his broken English. He takes Jongin to the aquarium and the zoo and laughs when Jongin shrinks away from the monkeys. But then Yixing steadies him with a hand in his, and on the tube ride home at the end of the night, he lets Jongin nod off on his shoulder, and Jongin ends each day with a warmth flooding his chest.

If being with Yifan was easy, spending time with Yixing is effortless. Even on days when he has excursions planned, when he's supposed to spend all day on his own, his feet lead him back to the little convenience story and he's always gratified when Yixing looks up and grins at him. 

What's scary about it, he supposes, is the part that _isn't_ easy, the part where he wants to find out what Yixing's mouth tastes like and where to touch him and how hard. This should be just as simple, but every time Jongin wants to pull Yixing in close, something stops him. This is _important_ to him, he realizes. When he left Paris, Berlin, Venice, it was never difficult. He had a good time and he moved on. 

This time, though, he's not sure he wants to move on. Yixing has slotted himself into a place in Jongin's life where Jongin didn't even know he had an empty space. It's going to be hard enough as is to leave London, much less if what they have becomes something more. Thinking about this keeps Jongin up at night, staring at the stained ceiling above his hostel bed, but in the end, he decides it's best. 

Yixing disagrees. “I think,” he says thoughtfully, over packets of fries. “That if I don't kiss you tonight, I might lose it.” His tone is casual, but the way that he's watching Jongin definitely isn't.

Jongin chokes and flushes bright red, goggling at him. “Your Korean is getting better,” he manages after a second.

“I know,” Yixing tells him, and his eyes are so bright and sharp and Jongin can feel his resolve crumbling away.

Even so, they don't kiss that night. Yixing's pronouncement makes Jongin wary and he shies away from Yixing's touch. He doesn't know what else to do, really. How is he supposed to be responsible when Yixing is right there, looking at him so hopefully?

It's the morning after, when Jongin corners Yixing behind the counter at the store and lunges at him, that Jongin makes it right. “I'm sorry,” he mutters between each press of his lips to Yixing's, and Yixing just laughs and holds him close. They stay that way until Yixing's boss catches them, shouting them out of the store, and Yixing catches Jongin's wrist as they race away.

Jongin has never met anyone he wants to keep kissing like, all of the time, and now, here's Yixing. He's got sharp teeth and clever fingers and Jongin is so, so crazy about him. His departure date approaches, and he knows that his father is going to scold him for not going out and seeing the sights, but he can't stop following Yixing to his flat and pressing him into his mattress. 

On the day he's supposed to go see the changing of the guard, Yixing makes him a late breakfast. They mean to head out, they really do, but then Jongin drags his teeth across the hollow of Yixing's throat and discovers how ticklish he is and, well, he has to exploit that.

“Stay,” Yixing whispers one night, so softly that Jongin doesn't think that he was even supposed to hear it, and the idea plants itself in his head. 

Stay. Jongin thinks about Seoul, about Sehun and the job that awaits him at his father's company. He's sure it'd be an okay job. Pay the bills and not too boring. It's never really been what he wanted, though. Jongin has never really known what he wanted, other than a strong interest in dance, and isn't that why he's here in the first place?

He keeps turning it over in his head as their last week together runs out. Yixing cooks him dinner and takes him to the London Eye, and kisses him at the top of the world. It all just leaves Jongin feeling more confused.

“When are you coming home?” Sehun asks. His voice crackles with static and it's delayed, coming from so far away.

“I don't know,” Jongin admits, curling up against his legs and resting his chin on his knees. And that's the thing. He looks up at Yixing, leaning against the doorframe and smiling at him fondly, and he realizes that what he _does_ know is that he wants to give this a chance. 

Yixing climbs onto the bed next to him and curls up against him, resting his forehead against his shoulder. “Not soon,” he says decisively, and he feels Yixing smile against his back.

When he hangs up the phone, Jongin stares down at it and listens to Yixing's breath across the back of his neck. For the first time in a long time, Jongin feels a certain sense of things clicking into place. It's impulsive and reckless, choosing to stay here when he has a future waiting for him back in Seoul, but he needs to take this risk. If there is a chance for him to be truly happy here, in London with Yixing, then he wants to take it. 

Yixing's fingers stroke against the small of Jongin's back, and Jongin twists to press his lips to the top of Yixing's head. Jongin can't shake his smile. It feels like the whole world is waiting for him.


	13. EXO, Tao/Luhan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tao/luhan  
> pg, 2.1k words  
> au. _"tao knows what he wants"_.

Yifan may be a crotchety and whiny stick in the mud, Lu Han thinks, but he definitely knows how to throw a good party. He raises his drink at him from across the room and Yifan tears himself away from whatever jailbaity freshman he's cornering for long enough to raise his own in acknowledgement, a bit of a grin on his face. At least this freshman seems to be able to hold his own. He likes the way that Yifan shifts uncomfortably under the kid's bored expression. That oversized idiot should have to work for _some_ of it.

Speaking of freshman. “Hi,” the kid says. He's looming over Lu Han, a hair too close for comfort. “I'm Zitao.” Between that and the way that he wavers a little, Lu Han figures he has to be pretty drunk. He can't bring himself to mind, though, because his smile is earnest and, well, he's pretty cute. He looks familiar, though Lu Han can't quite place him.

“Nice to meet you,” Lu Han tells him amiably. Zitao's grin turns pleased, and oh, now that is nice, seeing him all lit up like that.

“Do you want a drink?” Zitao holds out a cup, eyes hopeful, and Lu Han takes it just so that he doesn't end up with it sloshed all over his front. When his fingers brush up against Zitao's, that's when he realizes it.

“Ah,” he says. “You're the lit major that's been trailing after Yifan like a baby duck.” Yifan had mentioned Zitao in passing, something about a new freshman he'd roped into running around and writing the human interest pieces for the school paper. He certainly looks the part. He's got a big scarf and a half dozen piercings in his ears, but Lu Han supposes he can let that slide because of how criminally tight his jeans are.

Zitao frowns for a second. “No,” he says. “I'm not a baby duck.” Lu Han doesn't even bother to hide his laughter, and he likes how flushed Zitao gets, confused and stumbling over his words. He doesn't, Lu Han notes, step away from him. “I'm not!” he insists. He tips his head. “You're friends with Yifan.”

It's not a question. “Yes,” Lu Han answers, anyway. “Why?”

Zitao's smile is back again, broad and pleased. “I know,” he says, and Lu Han snorts. “He told me you were coming.”

Lu Han carefully sets down the drink Zitao had handed him and raises his own to his mouth. This conversation is becoming circuitous and he's not sure he's drunk enough for it. “That's nice,” he says.

“I only wanted to come because of you,” Zitao admits, and Lu Han savours the tiny rush that sends through him. “I like you.”

“You don't know me,” Lu Han argues, but he can't pretend he doesn't like this. He sidles a little bit closer and tilts his head up. “How could you like me?”

Zitao shrugs. “I know what I like,” he suggests, fingers brushing unsteadily down Lu Han's arm, and Lu Han grins.

“Jesus, Zitao, there you are.” One solid arm folds around Zitao's middle and tugs him away. “You disappeared.” Minseok looks a bit harried, shakes his head. “Sorry, Lu Han. I was supposed to be keeping an eye on him.”

“Hyung,” Zitao beams, and he curls an arm around Minseok's shoulders in return. 

Lu Han drains the rest of his drink and abandons it on a table. “Babysitting duty?” he asks Minseok. He's always liked Minseok, although that might have something with how easygoing he is. Even during exams, Minseok never objects to Lu Han waking him up at the crack of dawn to drag him out to play soccer.

Minseok shrugs and Zitao tips over to lean his head against the top of Minseok's. “I live near his dorm, I promised him a ride home.” He laughs and shakes his head. “I guess I forgot that probably meant making sure I didn't lose him in the process.”

“We can go home now, hyung,” Zitao says blearily. His eyes are fixed on Lu Han. 

“Oh, we can?” Minseok drawls. “I have your permission?”

“Yes,” Zitao agrees, and Lu Han smirks.

“What a relief.” Minseok shifts his grip on Zitao's waist and rolls his eyes fondly. “See you tomorrow morning?” 

“Bright and early.” Lu Han waves them off, and as much as he'll deny it later, his eyes follow them out of the room and his heart _might_ miss a beat when Zitao looks back at him. Maybe. Freshman, he thinks. They get bolder every year.

And on that note... “Hey,” Lu Han says, sliding up between Yifan and his conquest. Nothing says party fun like cockblocking your best friend. The kid glances at Lu Han quickly, and then his focus heads right back to Yifan. Interesting. “Yifan, introduce me to your new friend.” Yifan's glare could boil his brain in his skull and Lu Han just grins back.

 

-

 

“Shit, shit, shit, shit,” Lu Han mutters. He's already late for class, he's got a headache, and now, when he needs coffee most, the line up is practically out the door. He debates just going straight to class instead, but he knows that part of the headache is a burning need for his daily dose of caffeine, so he resigns himself to the baleful eye of Professor Jung when he walks in late. It's too bad, really, because he likes Professor Jung. He's young and enthusiastic and endlessly patient with his students. Of course, it doesn't hurt that he's incredibly handsome, too. Not that Lu Han has noticed.

For once, the campus baristas are moving efficiently and as he makes it up to the cash register, Lu Han is hopeful that he won't even be _that_ late. He really, really wants to order his usual sugary monstrosity, but he knows it's a bit complicated and he needs to get out. He settles on just coffee, planning on loading it up with sugar, and when he fishes in his pocket for change, someone stops him. “I've got it.”

The voice, soft-spoken, is familiar, and Lu Han looks up to find Zitao smiling down at him, pleasantly. He has on this horrendous yellow and black scarf and Lu Han finds he likes Zitao's sharp eyes even more when they're not clouded with alcohol. “Hi,” he says, a bit dumbly. The barista clears her throat and Lu Han realizes they're holding up the line. “Sorry,” he says immediately, reaching for the cup in her hands and nodding in apology.

Zitao trails after him as he heads over to the little stand to dump sugar into his coffee. “That was nice of you,” Lu Han says after a second, stirring the sugar in. “Is this going to be a thing? You getting me drinks?”

It takes a few seconds for Zitao to remember the last time they'd met, but when he does, he flushes and shrugs. “Well,” he says. “If you'd like.” 

Now that they're both sober, Lu Han can see this sly glint in Zitao's eyes. If Lu Han didn't know any better, he'd think it was almost predatory, the way he shuffles just a hair too close to Lu Han to be strictly comfortable and grins down at him, all teeth. “Free shit? Now that sounds promising.” He carefully presses a lid down on his coffee and debates checking the time on his phone. If he doesn't know what time it is, he reasons, it doesn't count as running late.

“Look,” Zitao says, one hand shifting on his own coffee, the other toying with the end of his scarf. “I know you've probably got class or something, but can I have your number?”

There's something really, really appealing about how direct Zitao is being. It's not like Lu Han has never been pursued, but he always tends to be the one to make the first move. Not to mention, he expects a dreamy lit major like Zitao to spend months trying to woo him with long yearning stares from afar. Wouldn't be the first time.

This, though, this is a bit new. Zitao is already pulling out his phone and holding it out to Lu Han. “You can have mine too,” he says.

“Alright,” Lu Han agrees, amused. They swap phones and take a few seconds to enter their numbers, and when he hands Zitao back, he realizes he's kind of coming to appreciate that smug little smile he gets when he feels like he's won. “I really do have to go, though. See you around?”

Zitao nods. “Oh, yes.” 

Fifteen minutes after he runs into class, Lu Han's phone vibrates in his pocket. He smiles.

 

-

 

Lu Han had really had no idea what he was getting himself into when he gave Zitao his number. He gets a text every single morning, wishing him a good day, littered with emoticons. Half the time he doesn't even understand them. They're nice, though, they make him smile.

Zitao texts him _all_ of the time. Lu Han gets selcas and filtered pictures of Zitao's food. He doesn't even bother to check his phone when it feels it vibrate in his pocket, because he knows it's Zitao, sending him something silly.

It's nice, though. Lu Han's busy, in his last year of college, and he's got almost no time, between his thesis and that class picked up as a TA, but Zitao doesn't seem to mind. It takes weeks before they can meet up again, even just for coffee, and when Lu Han rounds the corner to find Zitao standing in front of the coffee shop, Zitao straightens immediately and his face creases into a bright smile.

“Hi,” he says. “Long time no see.” He holds out a hand and even though Lu Han laughs and rolls his eyes, he takes it, lacing their fingers together.

Zitao can't make a lot of money, he doesn't have a job, but he still insists on paying for Lu Han's complicated, pricey drink. Lu Han is planning on arguing, but Zitao shoulders in front of him, carefully counting out his coins, and it sends a shiver down Lu Han's spine. Who knew he liked a little chivalry? His fingers come to rest lightly against the small of Zitao's back and he presses his cheek to Zitao's shoulder for a second. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome,” Zitao replies, and his smile is near blinding. 

They settle into a little table, and Lu Han shifts back in his seat. Zitao leans forward, resting his chin in his hand, eyes fixed on Lu Han. “I can't believe I finally got a second to breathe,” Lu Han tells him. He raises his eyebrows at Zitao over his coffee. “It's nice to see you again.” He snorts. “And not just in like, the dozens of selcas you send me daily.”

“Dozens?” Zitao scoffs. “How are you on the honour roll if you don't know how to count?”

The retort that Lu Han wants to snap back dies on his lips when his phone vibrates. He ignores it, but it goes off again, so he pulls it out. “Ah, shit,” he sighs, and across the table, he can just see Zitao's shoulders wilt. The texts are from Kyungsoo, and they make his stomach clench with guilt. “I forgot I had a tutoring session today, I'm sorry.”

“It's fine,” Zitao tells him, but his disappointment is written all over his face. He holds his coffee in front of him, both hands wrapped around the cup, and he doesn't look up. It doesn't take a mind reader to figure out what's going through his head. All that work, and now Lu Han's bailing. 

“Raincheck?” Zitao nods and Lu Han sighs. “Zitao.” His eyes flick up again. “Giving up already?” The smile is back, creeping across Zitao's lips and making the corners of his mouth curl up. Lu Han grabs a hold of Zitao's horrible scarf and bends down to press a swift kiss to Zitao's lips. He tastes like that gross black coffee he drinks, but Lu Han doesn't even mind. 

“Nope,” Zitao says when Lu Han straightens. “Not a chance.”

“Good,” Lu Han tells him, and with one final tug on Zitao's scarf, he slips out the door. He's not running, but he feels out of breath anyway. When his phone vibrates in his pocket, he laughs out loud, his chest light.


	14. EXO, Kris/Baekhyun/Chanyeol, Baekhyun/Chanyeol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kris/baekhyun/chanyeol, baekhyun/chanyeol  
> pg, 3.8k words  
> au. _"someone feeling like a third-wheel"_.

The moment that Baekhyun slides into the frame, wrapping his small arms around Chanyeol's chest and pushing his face into Chanyeol's throat, Yifan's heart sinks. Chanyeol turns towards him immediately, his smile radiant even through the shitty webcam stream, and Yifan steels himself for the inevitable. “Come to bed,” he hears Baekhyun whisper, his delicate fingers splayed across Chanyeol's belly. 

“Gotta go,” Chanyeol says, a flush spreading across his cheeks as Baekhyun's hand slides lower. Yifan swallows and reminds himself to look unaffected. They're his best friends, this is nothing new. Still, his stomach lurches.“Same time next week?” He leans towards the laptop, and over his shoulder, Baekhyun waves his fingers at him, eyes alight. “We miss you!”

He doesn't wait for a reply. The screen goes black and Yifan throws himself backwards in his bed, dragging a hand through his hair and sighing. “I miss you too,” he mutters, and his chest burns.

This promotion was supposed to be a good thing. And it still is, without a doubt. Overseeing the establishment of the Vancouver office is a big deal, a job that he's honoured to have. It means a big step up in prestige, and not to mention pay. 

Thing is, it's a bit lonely. If he's not asleep, he's in the office, working from sun-up til long after it's dark again. He hasn't even really had the chance to go out and see the city. His coworkers are nice enough, but none of them have reached out, and if Yifan is honest, neither has he. He misses Seoul. He misses his best friends most of all.

University in Korea was almost a whim. He had mostly wanted to get away from home, and Seoul seemed like a pretty good bet, considering he had to fly to get there. It'd been intimidating, but lucky for him, he'd gotten assigned a roommate who was aggressively friendly and under the delusion that Yifan was somehow super cool.

Meeting Chanyeol, and by association Baekhyun, was probably the best thing that had come out of college for him. Yifan has a lot of memories from that time, late nights and study sessions that somehow turned into ordering pizza and watching bad romcoms (Baekhyun's idea, but Yifan had a secret weakness for them). He remembers one morning, waking up in Chanyeol's bed after some adventure. Chanyeol's feet were in his face, the rest of his long, lean body draped off the bed and his head under a pillow. Baekhyun was curled up against his back, drooling against Yifan's shoulder. He was missing a stats class and he could feel his hangover rolling in, but somehow, he felt completely content.

Yifan counts himself lucky that the two of them have pretty much stuck around since then. He's been with them through graduation, job-hunting, and since they made the first tentative steps into a relationship. 

That, if Yifan is honest with himself, had been one of the hardest things he's done. Through college, they'd been an unbreakable unit, the three of them going everywhere and doing everything together. It was a comfortable, easy dynamic; Yifan could count on Baekhyun to go shopping with, Chanyeol was always game for a round of video games, and if he couldn't find one, he could just look for the other.

So when they'd started inching together, this slow, inevitable progression that started with furtive clasped hands and those long adoring looks, it had stung. Yifan had to keep reminding himself that he is an _adult_. Jealousy over friends hanging out seemed like a petty, childish emotion, but that didn't mean he couldn't feel it rising up in him every time he called Chanyeol to hang out, only to find that they'd already made plans, just the two of them.

The moment he knew he couldn't deny it was the moment he walked in on them at a New Year's party. They were all pleasantly drunk, and Baekhyun had announced that his drink was empty. Clearly, he needed to rectify that, and Chanyeol trailed after him into the kitchen. Even with the hubbub of the party and the noise the rest of their friends were making, Yifan could tell that they were taking far more time than was necessary, so he decided to go check in on them.

The sight that greeted him stopped him dead, fingers tightening on his cheap plastic cup. Baekhyun had Chanyeol backed up against the counter, one hand gripping the front of his shirt to pull him down. The way that they were kissing was intimate and slow – this was clearly not a one-off occasion. Chanyeol's fingers opened and closed fitfully at Baekhyun's hips and he was making tiny pleased noises in response to the way that Baekhyun licked into his mouth and stroked a hand up his ribs.

It took a few seconds, but Chanyeol finally spotted him over Baekhyun's head and he straightened in a rush, looking like a deer in headlights. “Yifan,” he said, breathless. There was something burning in Yifan's chest, making his throat tight and his hands shake.

“Sorry,” Yifan said immediately, automatically. This was not a moment that was meant to be shared, and he'd stumbled in on it, ruined it. “I didn't mean to...interrupt.”

Baekhyun shook his head as he pulled away from Chanyeol. Yifan couldn't help the way that his eyes caught on his hand, now curled into the hem of Chanyeol's shirt. Yifan's gut churned in a way that has nothing to do with the alcohol. “No, we should be sorry,” Baekhyun told him, and the guilt was painted on his face. Yifan couldn't decide if that was better, or worse. “We should've told you.”

Yifan seized on that as the reason for the ache in his ribcage. It's the secrets kept, he thought. That must be it. He considered his words carefully before he spoke again. “It's cool,” he said. He'd thought about being mad at them, but what would that accomplish? They're his closest friends. If this made them happy, then he should be happy for them. “I'll just, uh, grab a drink.”

It was weak, and he knew it, and they were both watching him, wary. He was too drunk to deal with it right then, with their tangled up hands and the way their eyes were trained on him. Tomorrow was a new day, a new year, and maybe he could figure it all out then.

When he threw himself down on the couch again next to Yixing, he looked up at him curiously. “Something wrong?” he asked quietly. Yifan shrugged and shook his head. Even if he'd wanted to talk about it, he wasn't sure he knew what he'd even say.

Of course, it wasn't any easier the next day, or the next year, as Baekhyun and Chanyeol fell almost effortlessly into their relationship. He'd thought, before, that there was something inevitable about the way the two of them had gravitated towards each other, and that only became clearer as they started to become more open about their relationship. Baekhyun fit so naturally under Chanyeol's arm, and Chanyeol had always turned towards Baekhyun like a flower towards the sun. Yifan wonders how he never saw it before.

Maybe it was wilful blindness. He's not stupid. He knew what it was, the reason his stomach rolled sickeningly when Baekhyun crooked a finger and Chanyeol laughed and came, without hesitation, their faces lit up and so happy. Yifan's really never been all that great at disguising what he's thinking, but he became practiced at swallowing down the increasingly familiar ache. For someone that was bigger than the two of them, Yifan felt somehow small and forgotten.

Still, it wasn't like they excluded him. Their old patterns persisted. Movie night, every week, the three of them sprawled out on Yifan's couch in front of some old cheesy romance. Except now, when Yifan turned to whisper something snarky to Baekhyun, he found him curled into Chanyeol's lap, neither of them even looking at the screen. The worst part is, Yifan doesn't even know what part is setting off that burn in his heart, Chanyeol's hand fitted possessively around Baekhyun's hip, or the smile that Baekhyun seemed to have only for Chanyeol. And that made this a whole new flavour of mess.

By the fall, when the position in Vancouver opened up, Yifan was about ready to go. He was sick of pull in his chest, the wanting he had to keep pushing down. It seemed like a good idea, until he dragged his suitcase into the little rented apartment that was to be his home for the next six months. It was plain, sparsely furnished, and when he sank down at the little dining room table, he felt incredibly lonely.

It's hardly improved, since then. Yifan keeps the apartment neat, clothes carefully away, dishes washed after every meal. He's gone out to eat a handful of times with colleagues, but he's never had anyone over to visit. Dinner is a lonely affair for Yifan, and if he's honest, the highlight of his week is usually when he checks the clock on Sunday morning and slides behind his laptop for his weekly call to Chanyeol and Baekhyun.

Talking to his best friends is a double-edged sword. He misses them, of course he does, and getting to catch up with them always soothes away the weariness he feels from work. He sits back and lets Baekhyun chatter about his weekly clients, listens to Chanyeol tell outlandish tales about the customers who walk into his store. It's familiar, and it feels like home, and that's something that Yifan appreciates when he's so far away.

Then again, it always brings back that wanting. Seeing their smiles, always casual hands on each other, it makes Yifan want to crawl through the screen and slide between them. He knows he can't have that, he knows that it's wrong to want it, but that doesn't mean that he knows how to shake off the dull throb in his chest whenever they say 'we miss you'. He misses them too, but it's not the same way. It's never the same way.

There are only two more weeks before Yifan is headed home, back to Seoul. Upper management has, of course, been dropping hints that they'd like him to stay in Vancouver and keep up the good work, and it's tempting. Over here, he isn't reminded daily of what he doesn't have by the sight of Chanyeol and Baekhyun, head over heels for each other. That feels a lot like running away, though, and something about that seems cowardly. Is he so petty that he would run away from the happiness of his friends?

Once again, Yifan rubs at his eyes and sighs. He has to get over this childish jealousy. It's certainly not making his life any easier. He reaches out one long arm and closes his laptop with a slap. Timezones, he thinks. That's the reason for this headache. Not the pull in his chest that aches so badly he feels like he left a vital part of him back on the other side of the planet.

His phone trills, rattling against his bedside table. _goodnight, duizhang! sleep well_. Baekhyun. Yifan doesn't bother to reply, just lets his phone slip from his hands, and stares at the ceiling. He wonders if Seoul misses him too.

 

-

 

The first thing Yifan sees when he gets into the airport is a ridiculous, brightly coloured sign waving over the heads of the crowd. Underneath it is Chanyeol's enormous, equally ridiculous grin. Warmth floods Yifan and he picks up his pace, the jetlag from the flight melting away as he pushes his way through the people to where they stand. Baekhyun is the first to greet him, winding his arms around Yifan's waist to pull him into a fast, tight hug. “Welcome home,” he says.

Chanyeol doesn't even give Baekhyun a second to pull away, just lunges at the both of them, wrapping them in his long arms. “Did you bring me anything?” he asks, his mouth at Yifan's ear. For a second, Yifan is overwhelmed by it all, by the way he can feel Baekhyun's laughter vibrate against his chest and Chanyeol's radiant smile. Mostly, though, it's the way that neither of him are letting him go.

“Alright, alright,” Yifan says finally, reluctantly, and Chanyeol takes a step back, far enough to give Baekhyun a chance to breathe and escape being crushed against Yifan's chest. “I brought you both souvenirs.” Chanyeol's eyes instantly light up, and Yifan holds up a hand. “No way, first, I'm going home, and I'm showering, and then maybe, if you're lucky, you'll get a present.”

Chanyeol groans and tugs Yifan's suitcase out of his hand, but Yifan doesn't have a second to complain. Baekhyun is hooking his arm through his and dragging him after Chanyeol. It's back again, that conflicting feeling, like he's being pulled in two directions. “We missed you,” Baekhyun tells him, and when he tips his head up to smile at him, Yifan swallows hard.

“It's good to be back,” Yifan replies. Walking between the two of them, Baekhyu pressed against against his side as Chanyeol leads them to their car, Yifan's feels like his heart is being squeezed in his chest. Home sweet home.

 

-

 

At least he has work, Yifan supposes. It's easy enough to fall back into his old routines here at home. He's not sure it's better here, but it's familiar, and there's something to be said about familiarity. His apartment feels like someone lives there, and more importantly, he has his friends within arms reach to bring him coffee at work to break up his day.

Yifan raises his head when he hears a knock at the door. “Hot and black,” Baekhyun says, raising the coffee cup. “Just like your soul.” He's not dolled up, the way he normally is during a shift at the salon, so Yifan assumes he's got the day off. 

“You're a blessing,” Yifan tells him, accepting the coffee gratefully. Of course, he could drink the stuff in office coffee machine, but Yifan is somewhat convinced that it's brewed from motor oil. “What brings you to my corner of hell?”

Baekhyun claims the seat across from Yifan, squirming down into the expensive leather and making himself comfortable. “What?” he asks, the picture of innocence. Years of experience have taught Yifan not to trust that sweet smile. There is something, though, behind Baekhyun's carefully casual posture. Yifan finds it in the way that his hands flutter in his lap and the nervous bob of his throat. “Can't I just drop by to say hello to a friend? We have six months to catch up on, after all.”

Yifan doesn't dignify that with a response. He just regards Baekhyun for a long moment over his coffee, eyebrows raised.

He doesn't immediately answer. Baekhyun's resistance to Yifan's stare has always been higher than Chanyeol's. After several long minutes, Yifan is about ready to turn back to the paperwork he has to finish, but Baekhyun speaks. “We missed you, you know?” His words are careful, measured, and they feel heavy. 

“I missed you too,” Yifan replies. “Of course. You're my best friends.”

Baekhyun straightens up slowly, shifting until he's sitting on the edge of the chair, back straight. “No,” he says. “Not like – ” He takes a breath, starts again. “When you were gone, it felt like. Like something was missing.”

Tension winds through Yifan's chest. He closes the folder in front of him and wills his heart to slow. “What do you mean?” he asks. He can't tell if it's hope or dread that's seeping through his gut.

Brows furrowing in frustration, Baekhyun bites his lip, tries a different tack. “Okay,” he says, and he drags the chair over to Yifan's desk. He grabs a sheet of paper and is sketching on it before Yifan can stop him and tell him that's part of a finance report he needs to submit by this afternoon. “Look.” He draws out a triangle, roughly equilateral, with three distinct dots at each point. “These are us,” he says. He points at each in turn. “You, me, Chanyeol.” He covers the lines joining Yifan to the other two. “This is what it was like when you were gone.” His eyes flick up to meet Yifan's and Yifan clenches his hands, hidden beneath his desk. His heart ricochets off his ribs and he struggles to keep his breathing even. He can't let himself hope. He won't. “That's not a whole picture. That's a line. That's not a shape.”

“What are you saying?” Yifan asks, and his voice is rough, unsteady. His eyes are fixed on Baekhyun's, and Baekhyun stares back, unflinching. Yifan can't find the words to ask, to make this real, and Baekhyun seems hesitant to spell it out any further, so Yifan backs off. “I don't understand.”

Baekhyun sighs, but he smiles. “You should talk to Chanyeol,” he suggests as he climbs to his feet. “Maybe he can explain it better than I can.” He reaches out and curls delicate fingers into Yifan's, squeezing once. “I'll see you later.”

He slips out, and Yifan watches him wave a quick goodbye to his assistant before the door slides shut. His heart is ping-ponging around his ribcage and his hands are closed into fists so tight that his knuckles hurt. He feels unsteady, like someone replaced his solid office flooring with the rolling deck of a ship, and he doesn't trust himself to get up. 

The rest of his day is spent hidden in his office, appointments cancelled, phone on mute. He needs to finish compiling his report on his term in Vancouver but instead of going over numbers he finds himself with one piece of paper in his hand, staring down at a triangle with equal sides. He can't fight the feeling that this is too good to be true.

 

-

 

When Yifan comes home to Chanyeol sprawled across his couch, TV blaring some horrible sitcom, he can't help but feel a bit like he's being ambushed. He carefully unties his shoes and puts them away before he even comes into the livingroom. Chanyeol lifts his head immediately, hauling himself upright and pasting on a smile. Yifan can see right through it, it's too wide, too tense, and his stomach lurches. “I still have your spare,” Chanyeol explains, and Yifan nods. Of course. 

“So you just decided to invite yourself to dinner?” he asks. Yifan is a competent cook, not stellar, but Chanyeol is a disaster. It's always better for everyone's sake if he doesn't get too close to a stove. 

“Something like that,” Chanyeol agrees. He scrambles to his feet, trailing after Yifan as he heads to his bedroom to put away his things. “Listen, I. You talked to Baekhyun, right?”

Yifan's back is to Chanyeol as he loosens his tight, and he stiffens. “Yeah,” he replies. “Something about geometry and puzzles.”

He regrets his flippant tone as soon as he turns around and sees Chanyeol, shoulders hunched. “Oh,” he says. “So you. Did you figure it out?” He's so nervous, twitchy and wide eyed, and Yifan shucks off his suit jacket. 

He takes a step towards Chanyeol almost automatically, and then he stops himself. “Do you mean, did we figure things out? Or are you asking me if I understood Baekhyun's code about triangles and missing pieces?”

“If you want,” Chanyeol says, and Yifan can see the moment when he steels himself, standing straighter. “If you want, we can be something. All three of us.”

It's all so heavy, and Yifan's mouth is dry. He struggles to catch his breath. “What?” he asks weakly. It all seems unreal. He can tell, though, that it's reality, by the faint shadow of stubble on one side of Chanyeol's jaw and the stain on his own cuff, coffee from this morning. “You – ?”

Chanyeol nods firmly. “It's not. What Baekhyun and I have, it's nice, but.” He shrugs a shoulder. “With you, it'd be better. It'd be so much better.”

It's a good thing that Yifan's bed is right there, because he sits down in a rush, his head spinning. Hope roars in his ears. “Can I think about it?” he asks. 

It hurts, the way that Chanyeol wilts, but he recovers. He's an optimist, Yifan knows. His smile, this time, is stronger, brighter. It's not a no, after all. “Of course,” Chanyeol agrees, without hesitation. He steps forward, hesitant, and rests his hand against Yifan's arm. “We'll be waiting.”

That night, Yifan is too distracted to properly cook. He even burns the rice and he ends up scrapping it all, throwing the half cooked meal in the garbage and climbing into bed early.

This time, there was nothing ambiguous about what Baekhyun and Chanyeol were asking him. That knowledge, that certainty, it made Yifan's breath catch in his throat. No matter how long he'd spent watching and wanting, he had never once considered that this was an _actual_ possibility, a path that they could actually go down.

The idea itself is risky, he knows. Putting another person into the equation throws all the math off. It multiplies the complications. Yifan can see it now, the dozens of tiny little things that could chip away at all of them, make it fall apart.

And then, Yifan thinks about the positives. He thinks about that warm happy feeling he gets just from being around the two of them. If there was anything that his stint in Vancouver had taught him, it was that it wasn't home. Seoul is. They are. And that certainty sinks into his bones until Yifan is sure he knows exactly what answer he will give the two of them in the morning.

 

-

 

Yifan clears his throat and knocks on the door, shifting from foot to foot. This is it.

The door opens and Baekhyun claps a hand over his mouth, hiding his smile. “You dressed up,” he accuses, but he looks pleased, and Yifan knows it's not really a complaint.

“Should I have dressed up?” Chanyeol asks, and over Baekhyun's shoulder, he can see their little table, set for three. There are candles lit. Baekhyun ushers him in. 

“It looks nice,” Yifan tells them.

“How's this for a first date?” Baekhyun asks, and he curls a hand gently around Yifan's elbow. Chanyeol beams at the both of them.

Yifan's nerves melt away, leaving him with nothing but that dizzy rush of anticipation. “Not bad,” he says. “Not bad.”


	15. EXO, Kai/Tao

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kai/tao  
> pg, 2.4k words  
> au. someone gets a piercing.

You know, last night, when Jongin, Sehun and Chanyeol were doing their best to decimate their stash of beer, it had seemed like an amazing idea. “Girls love them,” Sehun had declared, and if Jongin had been a little less drunk he would've thought to ask him how he knew this, if he didn't have any piercings himself. Drunk Jongin was pretty willing to listen to Sehun's sage advice. “They make you look, like – ” Here, Sehun stumbled. His eyes were glassy and he bit his lip, one hand hovering in the air like he was reaching for his lost words. “Interesting.” He grinned, pleased.

“Dangerous,” Chanyeol suggested, and even as Jongin was laughing, he kind of liked the sound of that. Dangerous. Like someone who broke the rules.

Sehun eyed Chanyeol darkly. “You are a fucking idiot,” he told him, and Chanyeol had let out an outraged noise, shoving him.

It was too late, though. The idea had caught hold in Jongin's head, and by the time his brother had come to pick him up, he'd decided it. “Hyung,” he said, and Joonmyun just shifted his arm around Jongin's waist with a grunt. “Hyung, I am going to go get my ears pierced.”

“Alright,” Joonmyun told him, amused. He carefully lowered Jongin into the backseat. “You're not going to throw up in the car, are you?”

Jongin glowered in Joonmyun's general direction even as he curled up in the fetal position. “No,” he grumbled. “Weren't you listening?”

The hand that stroked through his hair was soothing. “Yes,” Joonmyun agreed. “Pierced ears. Big man. Exciting stuff.” If Jongin had had more energy, he would've punched him. As it was, he just scrunched up his face and groaned as Joonmyun shut the door.

“You suck,” he said as soon as Joonmyun had skirted the car and climbed into the front seat. 

“Yeah,” Joonmyun said dryly. “I'm terrible.”

“The worst.” The late night air was biting and Jongin hunched his shoulders. “Hyung.” He was whining now. “I'm cold.” A jacket landed on his head, and he squirmed around so that it covered his torso. “Thanks, hyung.”

“Of course.” As his eyes slid shut, Jongin could see the fond upturned curve of Joonmyun's mouth, and he smiled himself.

 

-

 

Here, now, Jongin is way less relaxed. “Ow,” Sehun grimaces. “You're breaking my hand, you big baby. You haven't even signed the paperwork. Calm down.”

Jongin pulls his hand back into his own lap and glares at him. “Shut up,” he hisses. His head aches, and he can't decide if it's a hangover or just how clenched his teeth are. Sehun looks positively relaxed, long legs outstretched in front of him and crossed at the ankles. He's got one arm on the back of the leather couch and Jongin is pretty sure he hates him right now. “How do you know him, anyway?”

That's a smirk. Sehun is smirking at him. “We go way back,” Sehun says, which is unfair, because Jongin is his best friend. Shouldn't he know about these things? “There he is.”

“Sehun.” The guy who walks out from one of the backrooms is tall, even taller than Sehun, with a long nose and black hair that falls artfully into his eyes. Jongin's mouth goes dry. “What's up? How are they healing?”

Wait, what? Jongin's head whips around and he raises his eyebrows at Sehun, who promptly ignores him. He climbs to his feet and pulls the piercer into a tight hug, saying something that Jongin can't hear. He wants to be a bit resentful but whatever Sehun says makes his piercing artist laugh. The guy smiles, and it's smug and sharp and pleased and it makes Jongin's breath catch in his throat and he almost slips off the slick leather couch.

Unfortunately, the movement catches their attention. “Did you bring me a victim?” the piercer asks, fixing his eyes on Jongin. He can _tell_ that he's having this effect on Jongin, and the feeling that twists Jongin's stomach is part embarrassment and part thrill.

“I just thought I'd get my ears done,” Jongin offers.

“Zitao, this is Jongin,” Sehun says. He has one hand resting casually on Zitao's shoulder. “Jongin, meet Zitao.”

Jongin scrambles up and holds out a hand. “Nice to meet you,” he says, and Sehun scoffs at his polite tone. Zitao's grip is firm and warm and Jongin smiles at him, dragging a hand through his hair. 

“Yeah, you too,” Zitao says. He tips his head. “Well. Should we get some paperwork?” When he lets go and turns towards the desk, Jongin finds himself with his hand hovering in the air as he stares after him. Oh boy. Out of the side of his eye, he can see Sehun with one hand over his mouth, trying to swallow down his laughter. He's gonna kill him.

It only takes him a few minutes to fill out the forms and pay, and then Zitao is leading him into the backroom. Sehun moves to follow them, but Zitao stops him with a hand against his chest. “No spectators,” he tells Sehun, and his eyes flick over to Jongin. Delight surges in Jongin's chest. “Against the law.”

“That's not what you said last time,” Sehun points out darkly, but Zitao shuts the door firmly in his face.

The room is small, but neat, all sorts of individually packed metal tools arranged on a tray. Jongin assumes they're the tools of Zitao's trade. He sits down gingerly on the provided chair. He presses his index finger to his bottom lip and watches as Zitao straightens a few things, then pulls on a pair of black latex gloves.

“Alright,” Zitao says. He sits down on his own chair and wheels close. “Did you lose a bet, or what?” When Jongin gapes at him, he laughs. “You look, uh, nervous.”

He should've expected that. “Yeah,” Jongin agrees, digging his fingertips into his thighs. “Drunk plan, actually. Sober me is kind of not fond of sharp things near his head.”

Zitao rewards him with a laugh, and Jongin catches a flash of metal in his mouth. Jongin likes his eyes. Up close, they're softer than he expected, watchful. He's younger than Jongin had realized, too. Maybe that should worry him, but instead, Jongin finds himself relaxing under Zitao's gaze. “You know,” Zitao says. “You don't have to do it.”

It's tempting. Sehun might give him shit for a while, but he'd forget it eventually. “No,” Jongin says, and his eyes find Zitao's. He looks so pleased at that, and that makes Jongin scrunch his toes up in his shoes. “I'm gonna do it.”

“Good!” Zitao reaches back to pull his little table closer to them. Seeing the needles and clamps up close calls up the anxiety again. “They'll look nice, I think.” He reaches out and brushes one cool thumb against Jongin's earlobe. “Right here. Does that sound good?”

Jongin swallows. “Yes,” he says hoarsely.

“Hey,” Zitao says softly. “You're in good hands, I promise.” And Jongin doesn't doubt it, not for a second.

Zitao takes his time setting everything up and carefully marking Jongin's ears for the needle, low down on the lobe. Even if he is young, it doesn't show. He's clearly experienced, and every movement is precise and practiced. “Alright,” he says once he's got the clamp placed. “I'm going to count to three, okay?” He's dragged his chair even closer, and Jongin can feel the heat of him press against his shoulder. The cold of the metal on his ear, Zitao's elbow resting against his shoulder for balance, it all makes one thing starkly clear to Jongin: this is really happening. He's a bit lightheaded, and he can't tell if that's his nerves or the way that he can feel Zitao's breath against his neck. “One, two – ” 

Zitao doesn't wait for three, doesn't give Jongin a chance to tense up in anticipation. The pain and surprise knocks the breath out of him, but Zitao is already threading the ring through. “You're doing great,” Zitao assures him, gently wiping the fresh piercing.

“You tricked me,” Jongin says, and Zitao grins.

“Yes,” he agrees, unrepentant. He tugs off his gloves with a snap and rests his bare hand against Jongin's knee. “Ready for the next one?”

He's already gotten this far, Jongin supposes. It wasn't even that bad anyway. “Of course,” Jongin tells him, and Zitao's smile broadens.

New gloves, new clamp, new needle. “Are you going to count to three again?” Jongin asks.

“It only really works the first time,” Zitao laughs. He shifts a little, getting himself comfortable, and then he's all business again. “I'm going to get you to inhale, nice and deep, and then exhale, alright?” The needle pushes through when Jongin exhales, and this time, it's not nearly so much of a shock. He focuses on the way that Zitao's knee presses against his and Zitao has the ring through in one quick motion, the blood mopped away in a second. 

As Zitao tidies, Jongin sits and stretches a bit, working out the tension in his shoulders. He'd really thought it would hurt more, honestly. He's left with a dull ache in his ears, but it's nothing intolerable. When he reaches up to touch the rings, Zitao slaps his hands away. “No touching,” Zitao says, sternly. Jongin would feel chastised, except Zitao's fingers are still closed around his wrist, and he kind of likes it. “Especially for the first few days. Not unless your hands are freshly cleaned.” 

“Yes, sir,” Jongin says, tucking his hands obediently between his knees.

Zitao quirks an eyebrow. “Oh, I like you when you're not all scared.” Jongin flushes. “C'mere.” 

Jongin lets himself be pulled to his feet and lead to a mirror on the wall. He turns his head, admiring the new additions. His ears are a bit red but the piercings are even and it's nice work. “Thanks,” he says, and he can feel his whole face stretch into a grin. “Wait, do piercers get a tip? I don't have very much cash.”

The way that Zitao pauses for a second, eyes fixed on Jongin's lips, is incredibly gratifying. “I, uh,” Zitao stumbles, clears his throat. “I think this time, we can let it slide. On one condition.”

“What's that?”

In the mirror, Jongin can see Zitao tip his head. “You give me your number instead.”

Jongin's heart does a backflip. “Yeah,” he says, way too fast. “Yeah, okay.” Zitao's hand rests warm against his shoulder, and Jongin thinks that today is ending up pretty high on his list of awesome days.

When they come out again, Sehun is hunched over his phone, looking bored. He doesn't even look up, which sends a buzz of irritation through Jongin. “Did you pussy out?” he drawls.

Before Jongin can answer, Zitao speaks. “Nah, he did well.” 

Sehun raises his eyebrows, finally dragging his eyes away from his phone. He gives Jongin a long look, under the pretence of examining his new piercings, and shrugs. “Not bad, I guess.” And the supportive best friend of the year award goes to Oh Sehun.

“They look pretty good,” Zitao argues. He nudges Jongin with his elbow. “If I do say so myself.” He grins, and Jongin can't help but grin back.

“Gross,” Sehun says, making a face as he looks from Zitao to Jongin and back again. His eyes are amused and knowing and Jongin is dying a slow, horrible death. “Anyway, thanks for looking after him.” He takes his time climbing to his feet and pocketing his phone again. “We've gotta be somewhere.”

Even as Sehun heads towards the door, Jongin lingers. “See you around?” he says.

“Definitely,” Zitao says, beaming.

From the door, Sehun groans. “Jongin, come _on_ , I'm _hungry_.” Reluctantly, Jongin waves goodbye and follows him out. His ears ache, but it's a kind of pleasant ache, one that reminds him of Zitao's gentle voice and sharp smile, and he likes it.

 

-

 

It takes Joonmyun until halfway through dinner before he notices. “Oh,” he says, chopsticks halfway to his mouth. “Wait, you actually did it. Oh, wow.”

Jongin stuffs a mouthful between his lips and frowns. “Wow?” he mumbles. “What does that – ” 

“Don't talk with your mouth full,” Joonmyun scolds and Jongin hunches his shoulders and falls silent.

“It means that he's horrified,” Sehun offers up helpfully. Jongin kicks him under the table.

When Sehun has quit moaning about his hurt leg, Joonmyun shakes his head. “No,” he says. “It means 'wow, it looks good'.” He rolls his eyes fondly and smiles. “Look at my little brother. All grown up.”

Jongin groans, but the corners of his mouth turned up, pleased. Sehun blinks at the two of them. “Why am I friends with you?” he asks, speaking to no one in particular. “You're both such complete embarrassments. You should've seen him at the shop.” This part is spoken around his chopsticks, directed at Joonmyun. “Mooning over Zitao.” 

“I'm going to strangle you in your sleep,” Jongin tells him. He can feel his ears turning red. Sehun is unperturbed.

Joonmyun's eyes turn a bit calculating, and Jongin hates it when the two of them smell blood. It makes his life so hard. “Oh, really?” Joonmyun asks. Jongin wonders if it's bad manners if he just bolted and left.

In Jongin's lap, his phone vibrates, and he checks it discretely. _has anyone ever told you what a tongue piercing is good for?_ He blushes and chokes and when Sehun peers over his shoulder at his phone, his laughter makes him want to melt into the floor.

Still, though, he remembers Zitao's grin. Between meeting him and getting his ears pierced, he supposes that things even out. He peeks at his phone again, his face hot. Especially with something as promising as that.


	16. EXO, Kai/Sehun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kai/sehun  
> pg, 1.8k words  
> au. _"You can love someone so much...But you can never love people as much as you can miss them."_

“That's my flight,” Jongin offers, and Sehun nods. They've barely spoken all morning, from the moment the alarm went off, the hurried breakfast, the long, silent car ride. It weighs on Jongin, settling heavy in his belly and pulling the lines of his shoulders tight.

This was supposed to be his big day. When he'd gotten that letter of acceptance that meant that he was going abroad to study dance, Jongin had been elated. This was his _dream_ , what he'd spent every minute working towards for years, and it was finally happening. 

Sehun, though, Sehun was less pleased. When Jongin shared the news, rushing into the kitchen with the envelope crushed between his fingers, he watched Sehun's face shut down, like shutters sliding down between his eyes. It brought him to a dead halt. “I'm happy for you,” Sehun had said, but his tone was flat and he wouldn't meet Jongin's eyes. 

Four words, and Jongin deflated, his shoulders slumping. It was hard to hold on to his excitement when Sehun looked like the linoleum was more interesting than his future. “Thanks,” he replied, his hands falling to his side. 

Maybe Jongin should've thought about this more. He knew that going to study overseas meant leaving, of course, but he hadn't really figured on leaving Sehun behind too. And as that concept hit him, sank in, Jongin understood why Sehun wouldn't look at him.

Since then, things have been strained at best, painful at worst. They were best friends long before this evolved into something more, something easy and right, but after Jongin's announcement, that was all gone. Sehun was closed off, climbing out of bed long before Jongin woke up, claiming studying for exams and extra shifts, and it meant a lot of lonely evenings for Jongin. When their paths did collide, Sehun held himself just out of Jongin's reach. Nothing was scarier than this wall that had slid up between them, painful in a way that Jongin was unequipped to handle. He'd always been so shitty with words.

Here, at the airport, it's no different. When Sehun had gotten up to get coffee, Jongin couldn't help but feel like the cup he'd brought back for him was more out of habit than anything. The quick jerk of his head in acknowledgement of Jongin's soft 'thank you' just cemented that, and despite the hot coffee in his hands, Jongin felt cold.

They sat together silently, waiting for Jongin's flight to board, and as every second ticked by, Jongin wrestled with himself. He wanted so badly to _say_ something, but the words caught in his throat, stuck. How do you say 'I'm scared'? Or 'I already miss you and I haven't even left yet'? He was moving across the _planet_. He was leaving behind everyone and everything he knew, and that was huge and scary. The worst part was, the one person he cared about most, who knew him the best, was behind this wall that he didn't know how to get around. The airport was bustling with people but Jongin somehow still felt small and alone.

At least now, his flight was here. Jongin can't decide if he's relieved or terrified. “I guess this is it,” he says, and his voice is hoarse. He stands, grabbing his carry on, and turns to leave.

Sehun's hand on his elbow stops him and Jongin freezes, eyes wide. Sehun doesn't say anything, he just hauls Jongin in roughly and hugs him so tightly it's a bit hard to breathe. He doesn't mind, though. Jongin grips Sehun's waist with his free arm and burrows into the crook of Sehun's throat and inhales the scent of his shampoo. He can't imagine not waking up to this anymore. It's scary. 

When they pull away from each other, neither of them say anything. There are a half dozen platitudes that Jongin supposes he could say, how he'll miss Sehun, he'll call every day. He doesn't bother. For the first time in weeks, Sehun look at him and manages a tight smile. It's not much, but Jongin memorizes it, stores it away. He wishes they weren't in the middle of so many people, because he wants to pull Sehun in, kiss him until they're both breathless, leave him with something to remember him by. Instead, he settles for smiling in return and squeezing Sehun's hand quickly.

On the plane, Jongin slides down in his seat, trying desperately to fall asleep. His nerves are back, and his excitement, but all he can think about is the little smile on Sehun's face and the empty space in his chest.

 

-

 

It's lonelier than he'd thought it would be. Jongin's English is mediocre at best, and it's hard to bridge that gap. The classes, as much as he loves them, are long and hard, and Jongin's danced for years but he still comes home every night bone weary and sore. His roommate is nice enough, but he's years older and he has his own friend group and isn't inclined to invite Jongin to join it.

Sometimes, he texts Sehun. None of it has any real substance. _this teacher is such a hardass_ instead of _i miss you so bad my teeth ache_ , _i don't understand timezones_ instead of _i never thought it would be this hard_. Sehun is always slow to answer. Jongin can't figure out if it's the distance, a time delay, or if it's on purpose. He really doesn't want to dwell on that option. It makes it even harder to sleep, his phone clutched tight between his hand, silent.

Jongin knows that there are ways to maintain a relationship long distance. Texting is only one part. There's video calls and emails and all sorts of other little things, but he doesn't know how to bring it up. Jongin has always been stupid with emotions, and even if this is important to him, even if this matters, his courage just vanishes every time he picks up his phone. 

It's Sehun who breaks their long silence. The phone call must be costing him a fortune. “I can't sleep,” Sehun says, and the phoneline crackles in Jongin's ear. “It's stupid.” Jongin presses the phone to his ear and wants to cry. 

“Me either,” he mutters, voice thick. He's hiding out in the bathroom, and he knows he's been gone too long. His teacher is going to tear into him when he gets back. But he can't bring himself to hang up, not when he can hear the ragged pull of Sehun's breath over the line and it makes him feel like his heart is being dragged out of his chest. “I – ” Still, the words die in his throat, and he falls silent.

“Yeah, me too.” Jongin crumples, legs folded up to his chest and his face pressed to his knees. This is too hard. “Wait, what time is it? Shouldn't you be in class?” Sehun sighs, and Jongin can hear him shift. “Sorry, I never should've – go back to class, Jongin.”

Never enough time. Jongin doesn't even know how he'll make it through the rest of his day now, he feels like he had the breath knocked out of him. “Okay,” he says, even if he doesn't want to. 

It still takes him a few minutes after Sehun has hung up to gather himself. He isn't crying, but it's pretty close. His eyes hurt and he can feel the start of a throbbing headache starting at the base of his skull. Staring down at his lap, Jongin wonders whether he's glad he's not the only one who feels like this, or just achingly sad.

 

-

 

It takes up pretty much all the rest of his savings, but Jongin flies home over the Christmas break. It's a gamble, an expensive one, but he's tired of feeling so hollow and lonely. 

He makes Joonmyun promise not to tell Sehun he's coming. Maybe that's dumb, but everything feels so fragile. He doesn't want to press Sehun now just to have everything fall apart in his hands.

It doesn't matter, though. Joonmyun is a terrible brother. When he gets off the plane, eyes gummy after fourteen hours in the sky, it's not Joonmyun waiting for him. It's Sehun. Jongin would recognize his broad shoulders anyway. He's got his face tucked into his scarf, so Jongin can't see his expression.

After pausing, Jongin heads for him. “Hi,” he says, because he doesn't trust himself to say anything else. “You're not Joonmyun.”

Sehun shakes his head. “You came back,” he says.

With Sehun's face still flat like that, Jongin can't tell what that means. His fingers tighten around the handle of his suitcase and he swallows. “Yeah,” he says, hesitant. “I just – ” 

Jongin watches, shocked, as Sehun's facade crumbles away. His eyes are wide and Jongin can see the muscle in his jaw working. “Did you come back for me?” he asks.

It would be easy, right now, to say no. To chicken out and pretend that there was another reason, he missed Joonmyun and Seoul. But Sehun's face is open to him for the first time in so long and Jongin can't. It's too hard to say out loud, so he just nods.

He isn't expecting Sehun's reaction. He grabs Jongin's bag out of his hands and abruptly turns and marches off towards the door, and it's all Jongin can do to keep up with him. The silence between them now is even more unbearable, and he's so fucking confused. Is this what he came back for?

Sehun carelessly tosses Jongin's suitcase into the backseat of his car, not even sparing Jongin a second glance as he skirts around the car and climbs into the front seat. Jongin stares at his hands, shifting in the cold winter air. Well, at least he has a ride home from the airport, he thinks.

As soon as he slides into the passenger side and closes the door, Sehun is on him. He grabs Jongin's collar and drags him forward until Jongin is uncomfortably stretched across the centre console. It's a small price to pay for the desperate press of Sehun's mouth and the borderline painful grip he has in Jongin's hair.

He melts into Sehun's lips, cupping his face in his hands as he pushes forward, almost climbing into Sehun's lap. “I'm sorry,” he mutters against Sehun's mouth, over and over again. “I'm so fucking sorry.”

Jongin likes how Sehun looks when he pulls away, flushed and wide-eyed and almost in awe, in a way that Jongin doesn't understand. “No,” Sehun says. “ _I'm_ sorry. You came back for me.”

“Of course,” Jongin says, bewildered, and Sehun laughs and kisses him again. It feels like the pieces falling back into place.


	17. EXO, Chanyeol/Baekhyun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chanyeol/baekhyun  
> pg, 1.5k words  
> au. _"one of them makes a living acting in informercials, the other is his #1 fan who ends up ordering dubious products"_

Well, it's not like Chanyeol watches those late night infomercials on _purpose_. It's more that he likes to put the TV on for background noise while he studies (the silence unnerves him). And then when he wakes up in the middle of the night, wiping the drool off his face and his textbooks, they just happen to be playing. So Chanyeol gets familiar with them.

There's the one with the guy who's always shouting about how exciting his cleaning products are. He's usually the one that wakes Chanyeol up with a start. He appreciates the enthusiasm, of course, but sometimes it startles him right off the couch, and the last time that happened, his face hit his coffee table and he nearly chipped a tooth. Luckily, his laptop remained unharmed.

There are a few others that repeat, with blandly pretty women who demonstrate swimsuits with charming smiles on their faces. Those ones, though, they're not his favourite. Chanyeol's favourite is the guy who handles the beauty segment every night. If he's honest, when three thirty am rolls around, Chanyeol finds himself sliding his textbooks away in favour of sprawling out and watching _him_.

His name, according to the screen, is Byun Baekhyun. He's small, fine-boned, with bright eyes and an easy, entrancing smile. Even if Chanyeol _knows_ the lines he's trading with the female host must be scripted and rehearsed, Baekhyun delivers them with a charming ease, his delicate fingers landing on her arm as he laughs at a not-so-funny joke. Chanyeol sighs.

A pillow collides with his head and Chanyeol squawks. “Again?” Kyungsoo asks, yawning and rubbing at his eyes sleepily. His oversized sleep shirt hangs off one shoulder, and condensation drips off the glass of water in his hand. “You're in love with that guy, I swear.”

“Am not,” Chanyeol argues. He tucks the pillow under his chin and tries not to let his eyes sneak back to the TV screen. Baekhyun is demonstrating some kind of bracelet and he just has the _nicest_ hands – 

“Did you just sigh dreamily?” His gaze snaps back to Kyungsoo. He's got a hand over his eyes, but Chanyeol can see the disbelieving smile on his lips. “I'm going back to bed. Don't stay up too late watching the love of your life, you have an early class tomorrow.”

Chanyeol groans and buries his face in his hands, flopping back on the couch. “He's not – ” Kyungsoo's door closing signals the end of that conversation, and Chanyeol sighs. He's not in love, he isn't! It's just – 

On the television screen, Baekhyun laughs, and Chanyeol's heart does a bit of a flip-flop. Oh no. 

 

-

 

“What's this?” Kyungsoo asks, holding up the package that the mailman dropped off. He shakes it a little and frowns. “It says it's from the – ” 

“Nothing,” Chanyeol says quickly, snatching it out of his roommate's hands and hugging it to his chest. “It's nothing. Just something I ordered online.” He can feel the flush spreading across his cheeks, giving the lie to his words.

Kyungsoo looks up at him, amusement in his big eyes, pulling his lips tight to hold back the grin threatening to spread across his face. “Chanyeol,” he says carefully. “Did you order something from that channel?”

“No,” Chanyeol says miserably, and Kyungsoo snorts. 

Even when Chanyeol tries to escape to the kitchen, Kyungsoo follows after him. They both end up at the table, Kyungsoo watching him with his chin propped up in one hand. “This is silly,” he tells Chanyeol.

There isn't a chance in hell that Chanyeol is going to open this box up in front of Kyungsoo, not now. He's not even sure what compelled him to pick up his phone, and now he's stuck with an over-priced, gaudy piece of jewelry. “It was a present for my mom?” he tries. Kyungsoo just stares at him, eyebrows raised, until Chanyeol wilts. “Shut up.”

“Your dream man sells fashion items on late night television,” Kyungsoo grins. 

“I just think he's very good at what he does!” Chanyeol protests, but it's weak, and they both know it. “...and maybe I think he's kind of cute.”

“I knew it.” Kyungsoo beams at him victoriously. He climbs to his feet and rubs his knuckles against the top of Chanyeol's head. Chanyeol yelps and grimaces. “You're totally lost,” Kyungsoo tells him. 

Chanyeol turns the package over in his hands. What is he going to do with this? “Not true,” he says, but he feels a little bit hopeless when Kyungsoo laughs.

 

-

 

It's starting to become a problem, Chanyeol thinks. He sits on his bed and stares mournfully at the stack of boxes, filled with useless junk. He hasn't even opened half of them, and they're just collecting dust on top of his desk, and if he's honest with himself, it doesn't make him any closer to his ridiculous crush. Maybe it's too much studying. Maybe he's spending so much time with his nose in his books, and that's why he's nursing such a silly fixation on a pretty guy who sells useless fashion items. That has to be it.

There's only one way to solve this, of course. Decisively, Chanyeol climbs to his feet, grabs a jacket, and marches out the door. Time for some fresh air!

It's cold out, and drizzling. Chanyeol really does his best not to let it dampen his spirits. By the time he's made it to the store, his curls are slicked down against his head, and no matter how much he pushes at them, they just kind of stick to his forehead. No matter, he thinks. He can get some grocery shopping done, Kyungsoo will be so pleasantly surprised that he quits giving him shit, and all will be well.

He's on his way to the register when he slips on the linoleum, wet from traffic from outside. His feet go sliding out from underneath him and he throws his long arms out, his hand colliding with someone else as he goes down hard. Sprawled out on the floor, his basketful of food spread everywhere, it's pretty embarrassing. Chanyeol isn't sure it's an improvement on sitting at home alone with his boxes.

And worse, he took someone down with him. “Sorry,” Chanyeol says immediately, pushing himself up and scrambling to help the other man up. “I'm so sorry, I'm a bit of a walking disaster – ” His voice cuts off with a startled squeak when he realizes whose hand he's holding.

“It's fine,” Byun Baekhyun says. When he smiles, Chanyeol's feet slip out from underneath him all over again, and he ends up on his knees. 

He blinks up at Baekhyun, damp hair hanging in his eyes. “Holy shit,” he says. 

Like this, Baekhyun looks so real, softer than Chanyeol had imagined. He's not layered in makeup and his hair, instead of being of being so carefully coiffed, is just as damp as Chanyeol's. Chanyeol may be melting a little. “Are you okay?” Baekhyun asks carefully. He looks concerned.

“I'm fine,” Chanyeol says in a rush, clambering to his feet again. “You're – ” He waves a hand.

Baekhyun's eyes widen. “You recognize me?” he asks, and Chanyeol delights in the pleased light of his eyes. “Usually I only get spotted by ahjummas. I didn't know anyone below the age of forty watched my channel.”

“I do,” Chanyeol admits. “Well, watch isn't quite the right word.” He starts to gather the scattered contents of his basket. “I study, a lot, until late. But you...” Chanyeol clears his throat. “You're good. At what you do.”

Baekhyun looks up at him, speculatively, and Chanyeol swallows hard. Almost without his own volition, he finds himself beaming back down at him. “I'm Baekhyun.” 

Chanyeol takes the proffered hand without hesitation. Baekhyun's grip is firm and dry and he feels a bit lightheaded. “Chanyeol.” This is a dream, isn't it? It has to be a dream. He must have hit his head too hard when he fell. Right now, he is lying on the wet floor, unconscious. It can't be real.

Delicately, Baekhyun shifts his own basket from his hand to his elbow, and he smiles. “It's miserable out, isn't it? Did you want to go get coffee or something, warm up?”

Chanyeol's nodding before the words are even out of Baekhyun's mouth. “My treat,” he suggests, and Baekhyun's smile gets even wider. Chanyeol's knees get a bit weak, but to his credit, he doesn't fall again. 

Wait until Kyungsoo hears about this.


	18. Infinite, Hoya/Dongwoo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hoya/dongwoo  
> pg, 650 words  
>  _dongwoo has silly traditions and hoya takes it all in stride_

“Please?”

Hoya is already tense and nervous, the pressure of their subunit debut making him simultaneously stiff and jittery. Dongwoo has been fluttering around backstage, joking with the stylists noonas, playing for the camera, and Hoya tries to join him, but it's hard. He can't help but feel every ounce of the weight on his shoulders right now. 

Onstage, with Infinite, that's one thing. That's familiar. He has the other members to lean on. Hoya is comfortable in that role, the dancer, he _knows_ he's good at it. There's so much less risk. And it's not like he doesn't want to be here right now, readying himself for their debut stage. It's just that instead of one of seven, he's half. This is the unknown. He has to work hard, he has to do his best.

And then here's Dongwoo, snapping each of his bracelets in turn before holding his hands out to Hoya. “Hyung,” Hoya colours, glancing around to see if anyone is watching them. “Not now, come on.” The guy with the camera had gone off to film someone else, but that didn't mean that he wouldn't come _back_.

A muscle works in Dongwoo's jaw and it sends a jolt of guilt through Hoya's belly. “It's a tradition,” Dongwoo says stubbornly. Hoya can see the reflection of his own nerves in Dongwoo's eyes, and somehow he finds himself relenting.

“Just once,” he tells Dongwoo, and he's rewarded with a pleased smile.

He's not sure how this whole ritual started, but before their biggest, most stressful shows, he's always ended up in the corner of their dressing room with Dongwoo, playing a clapping game. It's childish and silly and just one on one like this, it's a bit embarrassing, but somehow, it helps. 

Their heavy rings aren't helping anything, and Hoya is already annoyed by the way that his bracelets shift against his wrists with each clap, but Dongwoo's voice rings out clear and loud in the dressing room. 

It takes them a few tries to get into it, Hoya is too self aware to pay too much attention to the timing. “Yah,” Dongwoo says, and he slaps Hoya's hands down. “Focus! This is important.”

“Important,” Hoya echoes, and he snorts. This time, though, when Dongwoo holds up his hands, Hoya drops his shoulders, takes a deep breath, and he nods.

It's been years since they started this tradition, and they've graduated from the easy games that kids play to more complex ones. Today, they don't bother with getting too fancy, there's no room for kicks or throwing their arms out, but it's not simple, either. Hoya smirks to himself when he hears one of the coordi noonas whisper “Wow,” to another.

He has to admit, it is relaxing. When he focuses on the slap of their palms and the rhythm, it leeches away some of his anxiety. And that, at least, makes the buzz of embarrassment worthwhile.

They finish with a flourish, and Hoya lets out a whoop. “Happy?” he asks. He feels loose, muscles relaxed, and his smile comes easily.

Dongwoo nods, and his eyes are sly. “It worked, didn't it?” he says. “You're not so tense anymore.”

Hoya's eyes snap wide, and his words stutter to a stop. He can feel the tips of his ears turning red. “Yeah,” he admits. Dongwoo's hand finds its way around his elbow and squeezes.

At the door, the PD calls their name. Hoya tugs his jacket straight and clears his throat, squares his shoulders. This is it. Dongwoo doesn't say anything else, rolls his head on his neck and nudges Hoya with his elbow. His grin is electric and infectious, and when they run on stage, there's one on Hoya's face that's just as wide. He feels like they can take on the world.


	19. Crossover, EXO/Block B, Kris/Zico

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kris/zico  
> pg-13, 5.5k words  
> harry potter au. _kris x zico. zico teaches him how to play quidditch c'mon._

Yifan hits the ground hard, shoulders hitting grass and skidding for a few feet before he finally comes to a stop. There's mud all over his yellow robes and high above him he can see the Gryffindor seeker circling, arms raised in victory. Grimacing, Yifan pushes himself to his feet, wiping at the mud smeared across his face. It was a fair game, and a close one, but that doesn't mean that Yifan's shoulders don't slump in disappointment. Just once, he thinks, it'd be nice if Hufflepuff could have a win. It's his last year, after all. Wouldn't it be great to go out with a bang?

“Alright, duizhang?” Zitao lands as gracefully as he always does and slings an deceptively casual arm around Yifan's waist. “You took that bludger pretty good. Did you want us to take you to see Madam Pomfrey?” His voice is light, but there is concern in his eyes. As keeper, he's gotten just as much of a workout as Yifan has, but he's definitely less muddy and bruised. It would add to Yifan's irritation, but Zitao is leaning over him, prodding at his shoulder, looking for damage.

Yifan bats his hands away. “No,” he says. “I'm fine.” The Gryffindor team swoops down to the group, all of them rowdy and laughing and cheering. With a sigh, Yifan straightens his robes and pushes his hair into something resembling order. Time to go congratulate them.

The Gryffindor captain is this infuriatingly energetic seventh year called Zico. He's fairly tall and leggy, his hair is this horrifying streaky mess, and his skill as a chaser is impressive and irritating. “Good game,” he tells Zico, and he holds out his hand to shake. It _was_ a good game, and Zico didn't get his position without reason. “You played well.”

“Yeah,” Zico says. His grip is surprisingly firm, even if his fingers are mostly swallowed up by Yifan's large hand. “You too. Nice catch at the end of the first hour.” He grins at Yifan. “You've got something, like –” He gestures at Yifan's whole face. “Everywhere.” His smirk is good-natured as he moves on to shake Zitao's hand next. Yifan can't decide whether or not to be insulted.

As they head back to the dressing rooms, Zitao hangs companionably off of Yifan's neck. “Next time, duizhang,” he says, and his optimism pulls the corners of Yifan's mouth up. “We'll definitely have it next time.”

“Definitely,” Yifan agrees, squeezing Zitao in return. There's still time before the Cup. Next time.

 

-

 

“Gryffindor kicked your asses,” Chanyeol tells Yifan through a mouthful of pastry. “What a disgrace.” His long legs kick against the legs of the wooden table he's sitting on in the vast warm kitchen. “To be expected, though. Do Hufflepuffs do anything right?” His grin, broad and toothy, is completely unrepentant.

It makes it easy for Yifan not to regret slapping Chanyeol's hand and grinning as the last of his pastry goes flying. “They didn't kick our asses,” he argues. “It was pretty close, up until they caught the snitch.”

Chanyeol looks down forlornly at his fallen food, even as a house elf is scooping it up and running off to dispose of it. “Details,” he says, and he shrugs. A house elf scurries up and carefully places a new plate next to him, and Chanyeol acknowledges her with a nod. “Maybe you were distracted by their new team captain.”

Yifan looks at him sidelong, a cookie halfway to his mouth. “If that's a joke, it's a poor one,” he says darkly. Zico is no distraction. He's just his competition on the field, that's all. He doesn't even know the guy.

“Of course,” Chanyeol agrees airily. He stuffs a cookie in his mouth, crumbs raining down the front of his sweater. “It's not like he'd be interested anyway.”

Not for the first time, Yifan regrets making friends with a pure-blood Slytherin. “What is that supposed to mean, anyway?” He know Chanyeol is trying to rile him up, but he still feels faintly offended. What's not to be interested in? Yifan is tall, incredibly handsome, and a prefect in good standing. He's a _catch_.

Chanyeol seems distracted by picking at the crumbs stuck to his front, but he's still grinning, and Yifan isn't fooled. “Nothing,” Chanyeol says. “I mean, I don't think you're his type.”

Yifan frowns at him. “I'm everyone's type,” he says. 

He's not sure what to make of the way that Chanyeol's eyes get sharp and mischevious, but the way he throws his head back and laughs makes Yifan grimace. “Did you want to make a bet?” Chanyeol asks, and Yifan's stomach drops.

They take bets very seriously around here. He has a vivid memory of the day that Joonmyun had very bravely marched down to breakfast wearing nothing at all. Jongin had been mournful when he'd picked up the bill on their next trip to Hogsmeade, but there was no arguing that Joonmyun had earned it.

“About what?” Yifan asks warily.

Chanyeol leans back on one big hand, his heels kicking. “I bet that you can't pick him up.” His smile is so sunny and evil. With the way that his soft blond hair is pulled up, he looks like some kind of malevolent elf. Yifan is struck with the temptation to slap a leash on him and drag him in for show and tell in their Care of Magical Creatures class.

“And just what would I get if I win?” 

Chanyeol raises his eyebrows. “Laid?” he says, confused, his tone saturated with _duh, Yifan, are you an idiot?_

Yifan is already shaking his head. “No,” he says. “I want a real prize,” he says. “Not a cop out.” He'd get that anyway, it's not fair for that to be what he won.

“Fine.” Chanyeol's nose wrinkles. “Divination homework for a week.”

Yifan scoffs. “A week?” 

“Two?” More cookie crumbs spray everywhere as Chanyeol raises his eyebrows. “That's fair.”

Fair is subjective, really, but Chanyeol has always had a better grasp on that airy fairy nonsense than Yifan has. A couple of weeks break from having to write up made up readings of tea leaves and a boost in his grades would be handy. “Alright,” he agrees. “And if I lose?”

This one is easy, apparently. Chanyeol grins. “You have to confess your undying love and affection for Professor Song.”

Yifan blanches. The Arithmancy professor is young, pretty, and intimidatingly smart. “You can't be serious.”

“Deadly,” Chanyeol tells him, that blindingly mean smile pasted on his face. “Come on. What's a dare if there's no risk involved?”

He hates to admit it, but Chanyeol is right. Yifan's pride refuses to let him back down. He finishes his pastries and flicks the crumbs in his lap in Chanyeol's direction. “You know,” he says. “Slytherin is just where you belong.”

Chanyeol tips his head. “I know,” he says smugly. He straightens up, hands clasped in his lap, waiting.

Yifan's mouth twists, but he sticks out his hand. “Deal,” he sighs. 

He's not sure how Chanyeol manages it, but his grin as they shake on the dare is somehow both bright and sunny and kind of scary. 

Zico had better not be a tough nut to crack.

 

-

 

He starts early the next morning, stopping by the Gryffindor table as he's leaving after breakfast. “Nice playing the other day,” he says, fingertips resting against the long table. Zico leans back in his chair, a faint smile playing at his lips. Next to him, his friends eye Yifan curiously. What is the Hufflepuff prefect doing talking to him? “I was impressed.”

Zico's eyes narrow and he looks at Yifan thoughtfully. It's to be expected, really. In seven years of school together, Yifan hasn't really said anything to him other than 'good game'. “Impressed, huh?” he says, and he smirks, all cocky. Next to him, his big friend elbows him repeatedly in the ribs, grinning. “Well, I did score double what you did.”

Irritation rises in Yifan's gut, and he presses his lips together. “Congratulations,” he says, and the dry edge of his voice makes Zico smile wider.

“Hey, you did good too,” Zico says. “If it weren't for that bludger, I'm pretty sure you would've tied things up.” He shoves a forkful of eggs into his mouth. “And you got right back up, too, now that was nice. Bet you're hurting today, huh?”

“I'm fine,” Yifan says, even as his hand came up unconsciously to touch his bruised shoulder. Zico's friend snorts and covers his grin poorly with his sleeve. “Hey, listen, I was thinking, maybe we could train together?” He does his best to make it sound casual. “Since we're both chasers and all. I thought it might be good practice.”

“But you're the _enemy_ ,” Zico says. His amusement is written in the way that his eyes curve up into crescents, and Yifan fights off the burn of embarrassment.

“Well,” Zico's friend says, elbowing him again. “He's just a _Hufflepuff_.” He beams.

Zico licks his fork and glances at his friend. “Dude, Jihoon, weren't you nearly a Hufflepuff?” The table around them erupts in laughter and Jihoon waves his hands and tries to deny it, smile still pulling at his lips. He finally settles for burying his head in his hands, bleached blond hair hiding his face from view. 

Waving ineffectually, Zico tries to quiet his friends, to no avail. “Sure, why not?” he calls over the din. “Tomorrow night after dinner? I've got Transfiguration tutoring tonight.”

That feels a lot like the first step to victory. Yifan nods. “See you then,” he says.

Zico jerks his chin up in answer, and Yifan walks to his first class feeling like he's got things under control. 

 

-

 

Yifan waltzes into Potions and slides into his seat next to Chanyeol. While their professor drones on about the value of rat's tails, he scribbles a quick note on a scrap of parchment and slips it to Chanyeol. _phase one: initiated_

It takes Chanyeol a few seconds to decipher Yifan's handwriting, but when he does, he flashes Yifan a quick thumbs up. It's too bad it's not fast enough to escape the sharp eye of Professor Cho. They end up 'volunteering' to demonstrate the effects of a hair-raising potion. The sight of Yifan with his hair makes Chanyeol double up, shrieking with laughter, even though his own curly hair is standing on end. He looks like some kind of deranged troll doll, but Yifan doesn't bother to mention it. Too much work to explain what a troll doll _is_. 

Yifan spends the rest of the day desperately trying to comb his hair down and glaring at anybody who dares laugh. He's a _prefect_. Doesn't that role command any respect any more? Another first year scurries past him giggling while he's on the way to dinner, and Yifan sighs.

 

-

 

Zico is late. When he finally sidles onto the field, it's already getting dark. “Sorry,” he says cheerfully. “The cherry pie is my favourite. I went back for seconds. Are you ready to go?”

He doesn't wait for an answer. He flicks open the Quidditch trunk and grabs the quaffle and in a second, he's already in the air. Yifan begrudgingly admits to himself that Zico is good. He's a natural, streaking through the air with unerring grace, despite the evening light. He scrambles to catch up, kicking off and flying up.

“Let's keep it short,” Yifan calls as he circles near Zico. “We don't have much light left. First person to fifty points wins it.”

The setting sun catches on Zico's flash of a smile. “That's not even a challenge,” he shouts back. He hefts the quaffle at Yifan and draws up quickly. It's sheer luck that Yifan even catches it. He'd meant to get some time getting to know Zico, figure out what angle to take, not embarrass himself. Get it together, Wu. “You're on.”

Yifan hovers for a few seconds, blinking, before he realizes that's as close as he's gonna get to a 'go', and then he shoots off to the other end of the field, ball tucked under his arm. 

Zico follows in a flash, darting ahead of him to throw him off. Yifan growls and banks, keeping the rings on the field in his line of sight even as he moves. Zico may be a bit of a prodigy when it came to flying, but Yifan has always been the better marksman. Another feint from Zico and Yifan has to spin away and circle back, grip tight on his broom as he tries to get at the rings. “C'mon, Wu,” Zico calls. “Give me a challenge.”

If it's a challenge he wants, it's a challenge he gets. Yifan dodges away from Zico, swooping down low and then bombing straight up behind the rings. The score is easy and he circles lazily, arms in the air as Zico darts down to catch the quaffle. “How's that for a challenge?” he asks.

“It's a start,” Zico tells him, and then he's off like a shot to the opposite end of the field. His laughter echos across the empty seats and Yifan groans. He's so _fast_.

Zico scores quickly, but Yifan makes it up with an improbably accurate shot from midfield. “I don't think that's fair,” Zico shouts as he swoops low to catch the quaffle again. “You have freakishly long limbs, that's an unfair advantage.

Hovering easily in front of Zico, legs tight around his broom, Yifan spreads his arms and laughs. “Don't hate the player,” he says.

It's almost dark now, but by the light of the torches on the stands, Yifan can still see the way that Zico raises one eyebrow and shakes his head. He hefts the quaffle and bounces it off Yifan's forehead. It knocks him backwards, sending him wobbling towards the ground. “That was stupid,” Zico tells him. Before Yifan can even respond, Zico darts down and grabs the ball, off towards Yifan's rings again.

The game is close, but in the end, Zico wins it. He crows his triumph, doing ridiculous loops in the air before finally pulling up next to Yifan. They're both sweaty and a bit dirty from the time after Yifan's third goal, when Zico had been a bit overzealous with his goal keeping and had slammed them both into the pitch. “You're a terrible winner,” Yifan tells him, but Zico's grin is infectious, and he finds himself smiling anyway even as they fly back down.

“Whoa,” Zico says as they land. He touches down neatly and Yifan's heels drag against the ground for a few paces before he stops.

“What?” Yifan wipes the sweat off his forehead and pushes his hair out of his eyes. 

Zico tosses the quaffle back into the trunk and snaps it shut with a resounding click. “You have like, the weirdest smile.” 

It drops off Yifan's face immediately and he ducks his head, suddenly self-conscious. “Oh, thanks,” he says dryly. He hopes it covers up his genuine embarrassment.

“Hey, no.” Zico nudges him with an elbow and shakes his head. “I mean, it is weird. But it's kinda nice. You're like, the least smiley Hufflepuff I have ever met.” He gestures at the Quidditch trunk and Yifan gets the hint. He grabs one end and Zico hoists the other. “You should try smiling more. It makes you look less intimidating.” 

Yifan would never admit it, but something stirs in his chest. He smirks. “And who says I want that?”

He raises an eyebrow and it startles a laugh out of Zico. He points at Yifan with the hand holding his broom. “I like you,” he says decisively.

They make their way into the dressing room and Yifan stows away the trunk. “Thanks,” Yifan says. “I'm _so_ honoured.” Honoured, no. But Yifan is starting to think that maybe even if this bet doesn't work out for him, it kind of paid off anyway. Zico licks his thumb and wipes at the dirt on his chin, grimacing when it comes away dirty, but he still has a grin for Yifan. And that's pretty great.

 

-

 

Hogsmeade is nice, in the spring. The air smells fresh and green and getting out of the castle and away from thick stone walls and Sehun's irritating rat (it chewed through _everything_ and Sehun still took it everywhere and just sat back and laughed), most of all. It's got a little freedom, an escape from school, and a pub.

It's also got Zico, it seems. “Oh look,” Chanyeol says, delighted, as he spots him. Zico is standing around the door to Three Broomsticks. Chanyeol tightens his grip on Yifan's arm. “It's your target.”

Yifan isn't sure that being seen with Chanyeol hanging off his arm is going to help his case. He gently tugs his arm out of Chanyeol's hand. “I saw him,” he says nonchalantly. When Chanyeol unconsciously reaches for him again, though, Yifan gives him a look. “Don't sabotage me,” he scolds. “You made the bet, you're not allowed to interfere.”

Chanyeol sticks out his bottom lip. “I'm not!” he grumbles. Yifan pats his head. “Hey, look, he's waving.” So he is. Yifan waves back. “Aren't you going to go talk to him?” Chanyeol frowns. “You're not even trying.”

Yifan shoots him a dark look. “I'll show you trying,” he says. He shoves Chanyeol a little and then picks up his pace, making his way over to Zico and his friends.

“Hey, Wu.” An easy smile is already spreading across Zico's full lips. “How's it going?” He tucks his hands in his pockets and next to him, his big friend Jihoon smirks, eyes darting between the two of them. “Nice save at last week's match, man, Zitao definitely owes you for that one.”

“You're not the only one with moves,” Yifan says, although Zico's compliment has sent a rush of warmth up his spine. Zico's other friend, a handsome but slightly gangly Hufflepuff named Jaehyo, snorts loudly into his hand. When he catches sight of Yifan's glare he shrinks, eyes wide, and tugs Jihoon away.

Zico watches them go. “Damn,” he says. “That is handy.”

Yifan shrugs. “Hey, you wanna go get some butterbeers?”

“Hell yes,” Zico beams. He hooks an arm around Yifan's shoulders and steers him towards the door of the pub. “You're paying, right?” Yifan lets out a surprised noise but he doesn't protest. A couple of butterbeers is a small price to pay for winning the bet, he tells himself. It's got nothing to do with the comfortable weight of Zico's arm at all.

 

-

 

Yifan is coming out of Transfiguration when a hand catches his elbow. “Hey,” Zico says. “Do you have anywhere to be?”

He does, actually. He's got Divination in the afternoon, and he'd been hoping to get a bit of work done on his Arithmancy homework at lunch. This is just a bet, he reminds himself. Nothing worth going out of his way for. 

Thing is, Zico has this look on his face that Yifan can't read and he kind of wants to know what he's suggesting. “No,” he finds himself saying. “Why?”

Zico's smirk says that he knows that Yifan is lying. “C'mon. I've got a better use of your time.”

Zico drags him up several flights of stairs until he pushes open a door and gestures for Yifan to go in. It's an unused bathroom, Yifan finds, dusty and poorly lit. “No one comes up here,” Zico says.

“That's a good thing?” Yifan asks, tossing his bag in a corner. He hops up on one of the chipped old sinks, looking around. It's disgusting in here. If Zico wanted to hang out in some part of the castle no one bothers with, fine, but why couldn't he clean it up a bit? Damn.

Zico holds up a little bag, and he grins. “It's definitely a good thing,” he says, and Yifan swallows. He must've stolen it from the Potions store room. That is definitely _not_ something he should be involved with. He's a prefect, after all. Joonmyun may have been the one that ended up making Head Boy, but Yifan still has responsibility.

“Well,” he says. “Aren't you a rebel.” His mouth feels a bit dry. He's not sure how to get out of this, now. The way that Zico watches him is a dare, and Yifan has always been loathe to turn those down.

Pulling a joint out of the bag and wand out of his pocket, Zico snorts and rolls his eyes. “Calm down, bro. I promise you, breaking the rules once won't hurt. Didn't your friend run around the Great Hall naked? He still made Head Boy, didn't he?” The way that Zico fits the joint between his lips and lights it is practiced and assured. Yifan doesn't know what to make of that.

“I'm not really one for...all of this.” Yifan gestures with a hand and watches the way that Zico holds it in his chest for a few seconds and then exhales, the smoke forming a lion's face before it dissolved. He looks pleased. “Not all of us get our kicks stealing things from the potions room, Zico.”

“Jiho,” he corrects, and Yifan looks up at him. “Zico's just a nickname, my real name is Jiho. You can call me that, if you want.”

Seven years he's gone to school with Zico, five years he's played Quidditch against him, and he never once knew that Zico wasn't his _real_ name. “Jiho,” he corrects himself. 

Jiho rewards him with a smile and holds out the joint. When Yifan balks, shaking his head, Jiho's eyes widen. “No way,” he says. He sounds excited. “Don't tell me you've never tried it.”

Straightening his robes, Yifan clears his throat and does his best to pretend he doesn't notice the flush that creeps up his cheeks. “No,” he admits reluctantly. 

Jiho jumps up on the sink next to him. “I'm corrupting you,” he crows. “This is awesome.” He shrugs his robes off and tosses them on the floor, careless of the dust. “I'll teach you.”

Yifan feels utterly out of his depth. Jiho looks completely relaxed out of his school robes, his striped sweater stretching across his shoulders and the joint between two fingers. In sharp contrast, then, is Yifan: a little bit sweaty from the climb up, the hem of his robes all dusty, eyeing Jiho with poorly disguised apprehension. “No, it's fine,” Yifan says.

Jiho takes another drag and watches Yifan fidget, eyes sharp. “Then what exactly did you come here for?” he asks, and Yifan finds his reply caught in his throat. “That's what I thought. Here, let's make this fun.” He reaches out and gently curls his fingers around the back of Yifan's neck. “When I exhale, you inhale. Got it?”

Seems easy enough. Yifan tries to ignore the voice at the back of his head reminding him of all the rules they're breaking by being here today, and the one that was enjoying the pressure of Jiho's hand on his skin. He nods. 

“Relax,” Jiho tells him. He takes a long drag on the joint and then leans in close, lips parted. It takes Yifan a few seconds to remember to inhale as instructed, but that probably has something to do with the way that Jiho's lips brush against his. It's incredibly distracting. 

He imitates what he'd seen Jiho do, trying to take the smoke deeper into his lungs. It makes his head spin a little, and when he finally exhales again he coughs, the smoke twisting into little dragons around his face. “Not bad,” Jiho says. “For a first-timer.” His hand falls from Yifan's neck to land on his knee. “There's hope for you yet.”

“Hope for what?” Yifan retorts, and Jiho lets his head fall back against the mirror, laughing.

“For you becoming an interesting person,” he tells Yifan. Yifan scoffs and nudges him, making Jiho rock on the sink and laugh harder. He turns to Yifan, and his eyes darken a little. “Want another go?”

Yifan pulls his bottom lip into his mouth, but it doesn't stop the corners of his lips turning up. “Oh yeah,” he says, and he leans in.

 

-

 

After that day in the seventh floor bathroom, every time he passes Jiho in the halls, he gets this companionable jerk of the chin in greeting, like they're part of some secret club. Every time, it makes Yifan grin to himself. Chanyeol happens to be with him after Potions one day when it happens, and he catches it, and Yifan's smile. “Well?” he asks impatiently. “Did you seal the deal?” He wiggles his eyebrows. 

“No,” Yifan admits, and Chanyeol makes this odd face, like he's torn between groaning in frustration and cheering in victory. “I'm working on it.”

Chanyeol's grin is broad and amused. “Is working on it code for 'not getting anywhere and totally gonna lose this bet to Chanyeol'?”

“I'm _not_ going to lose,” Yifan protests as they enter the library. “Jiho's just...it's complicated.”

“Jiho? Complicated?” Chanyeol cocks his head, confused. “What's complicated about it?” He swings his bag onto a chair and then suddenly whirls around eyes wide. “No _way_.”

Yifan very pointedly doesn't look at him as he takes a seat and pulls out his textbooks. “It's nothing,” he tells Chanyeol. Chanyeol makes an unconvinced sound, but from the corner of his eye, Yifan can see him grinning. This is embarrassing.

Digging his knuckles into Yifan's side, Chanyeol starts singing under his breath. “Yifan liiiiiiikes him,” he sings. “Yifan wants to suck his diiiiiiick.”

The librarian is already eyeing them suspiciously, and Yifan shushes him. “I am going to hex you into next year,” he mutters.

Chanyeol just beams. “We both know you don't have the creativity for hexes,” he says, and Yifan lays his head down on the table and moans. “He seems nice, though.” Yifan can see Jihoon two desks down with a stack of books, and he hopes desperately that he hasn't heard anything. It's too bad that Chanyeol doesn't know the meaning of 'indoor voice'. 

Patting his head, Chanyeol leans in to smile right in Yifan's face. “I'm pretty sure that this means I win, no matter what happens. You know that, right?” 

Yifan pulls his robes over his head and sighs. 

 

-

 

It's nearly a week later, at breakfast, that Jiho throws himself down on the bench next to Yifan in the Great Hall, leaning over the table and resting his chin on his hand. “A dare, huh?” he says.

Yifan looks over at him, startled. “What?”

Jiho helps himself to the last of Yifan's bacon. “Your Slytherin friend,” he says through a mouthful. “He's not very quiet.” Across the table, Zitao watches them warily, and Yifan shakes his head a little. “Jihoon filled me in.”

“It's – ” Yifan stalls, unsure of what to say. Jiho's face is oddly unreadable. 

“Complicated,” Jiho says. “So I heard.” He munches on the rest of Yifan's bacon, but the casual expression on his face doesn't quite fit right.

Yifan twists to face him. “Look,” he says. “I'm sorry.” He looks around at the crush of people and Zitao's curious eyes. “Can we go somewhere and talk about this?”

Jiho just shrugs and lays a hand on Yifan's shoulder, climbing to his feet. His smile is a bit sour. “Nah, it's cool,” he says. “You could've just told me, y'know? I'd have been more than happy to help you out.” Yifan feels obscurely disappointed, his fork drooping in his hand as he watches Jiho turn to go. “Go ahead and tell him we hooked up, I don't mind.”

“What was that about?” Zitao whispers as Yifan stares down at his plate. 

“Nothing,” Yifan tells him. “Don't worry about it.” He won the bet, sure, but suddenly, his appetite is gone. He pushes his plate away. “I'll see you at practice, alright?” Maybe if he's early for class, he can keep his mind of this odd, sinking feeling in his gut. Maybe if he's lucky.

 

-

 

The next time they meet, Gryffindor has just soundly trounced Hufflepuff in the Quidditch Cup tournament. Yifan is once again covered in mud and feeling embarrassed. At least, he supposes, he hasn't had to do Divination work for weeks. It _should_ feel like a win, but somehow, it feels a bit empty.

“Good game,” Jiho tells him, and it's like the past spring never happened. His smile is friendly, but distant, and Yifan bites back his disappointment. 

When Jiho goes to pull away, Yifan holds his hand tight. “Hey, can I see you for a second?” he asks. He keeps his face carefully blank. “I have to talk about some team captain stuff.”

Jiho's eyes are skeptical, but he nods. “Yeah, sure. Dressing room?”

“Sure.” Jiho jogs to catch up with the rest of his team, noisy with their victory and celebrations.

Yifan's team is still in good spirits as they clean up and get ready to head back to the common room. After all, there's still a shot at third place. Zitao leads them back to the castle, all of them laughing and chanting “we're number three, we're number three”, and Yifan sees them off.

Yet again, Jiho is late. He's still muddy when he pokes his head into the dressing room. “Sorry,” he says. “Had to talk to Professor Hooch about the final. What's up?”

“I'm sorry,” Yifan says, immediately. Jiho frowns with confusion as Yifan stumbles on. “Just because it was a dare doesn't mean I didn't _like_ hanging out with you.” Jiho doesn't say anything, and Yifan squirms under his gaze. “I mean, if I'm honest, it was mostly an excuse.”

There's a smile growing on Jiho's mouth. “Yifan,” he says. “You're a _Hufflepuff_. Of course I know you didn't mean any harm.”

Yifan blinks at him, momentarily lost for words. “Should I be insulted?” he asks. 

Jiho throws his head back and laughs. “No hard feelings, Wu, I promise.”

“What if...” Yifan clears his throat. Now or never. “What if maybe I kind of want hard feelings?” He regrets saying it as soon as the words leave his mouth, and he cringes.

Jiho's eyes narrow for a second before he understands, and then his mouth twists in a vain effort to hold back his laughter. “That was _terrible_ ,” he tells Yifan. “Like, has that ever worked? Ever?” He shakes his head. “Damn, dude. It's a good thing you're handsome, because when you open your mouth, you're like, the most awkward guy I've ever met.”

“Give me a little credit,” Yifan groans. 

When he moves to turn away and hide his face, Jiho catches his wrists in his hands. “I did,” Jiho says. “Didn't you hear? I called you handsome.”

Slowly, carefully, Yifan shifts until his fingers are curled around Jiho's. “I heard. That's just fact.”

Jiho looks at him for a second, incredulity written all over his face. His hands are warm in Yifan's. “Yifan,” he says. “I'm gonna shut you up with my mouth now.” Yifan is more than pleased to oblige Jiho by leaning down to kiss him.

His mouth is just as plush as it looked, soft and inviting enough that Yifan can ignore the fact that he's getting the mud from the pitch all over his pants. Jiho's hands find their way to Yifan's hips and he leans up, licking insistently into Yifan's mouth. It's making him even feel even dizzier than he did the day in the seventh floor bathroom.

“Why didn't we do this earlier?” Yifan says, breathless. Jiho has backed him up, step by tiny step, until his shoulders hit the wall. He's finding that he kind of likes it here, pinned by Jiho's hips. 

He also likes the red, well-kissed look of Jiho's lips right now. “You didn't say anything dumb enough?” Jiho suggests. He cuts off Yifan's indignant reply with another kiss, hands pressing firmly against Yifan's ribs and Yifan gives in. It's the easiest thing he's ever done.


	20. DMTN, Simon/Jeesu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> simon/jeesu  
> pg, 1.5k words  
> au. _domestic marrieds (and you are welcome to make this dorky dads as well)_

It's not easy opening a door with a toddler in your arms, but Simon likes to think he's starting to get pretty good at it. Kanta leans his head against his, gripping Simon's shirt front with chubby fingers. 

His weight is heavy and solid against Simon's hip as they make their way into the apartment. Simon takes a second to toe off his shoe. One gives him trouble, and when he bends to look at it, Kanta lets out a little squeak of alarm. “Hey,” Simon says softly, letting Kanta's overnight bag drop to the floor so he could hold him more closely. “I've got you.”

He finds Jisu in the kitchen, frowning over paperwork at the table. “I brought you home a friend,” Simon says, and Jisu's eyes light up when he sees them. “I thought you'd like someone you could talk to. Someone on your level.” 

Jisu's chair scrapes loudly across tile as he stands, and the smile he directs at them both is enormous, pushing his eyes up into crescents. “It's my best pal, Kanta!” He holds out his hands as he lopes over to them, making weird gestures, and even as tired as Kanta is, he still giggles and reaches out for him. “I always knew you liked your uncle Jisu best.” His eyes flick up to Simon for a second as he gently lifts Kanta away. “Babysitting duty?”

Kanta fits well in Jisu's wiry arms, eyes sleepy as he pulls at Jisu's hair. Always indulgent, Jisu lets him, lets him curl little fingers around his nose and tug at his earrings while Jisu makes faces. “They said they could use a night off, so I said we'd take him for the weekend.” Simon brushes a thumb across Kanta's soft, round cheek and watches him yawn. “You don't mind, do you? You're always saying you like having him around.”

He must've sounded a bit worried, because Jisu rolls his eyes and leans towards Kanta. “Do me a favour and hit your uncle Simon for me,” he murmurs. “He's being dumb.” 

Jisu doesn't even have the good grace to look ashamed when Simon shoots him a look for encouraging violence. He does, however, curl his free hand around Simon's elbow and stretch to kiss him. Simon can't tell if it's a greeting or an apology but he supposes it doesn't really matter.

As Simon pulls out a chair and sits down heavily, he smiles at the sight of them. Kanta's head nods forward with his exhaustion, it's been a long day for him, but he's still all smiles for Jisu and his squeaky voice and funny faces. Jisu has always been playful and funny, and Simon loves him for it, for the way that he's never lost that silliness even as time went on and they grew into 'responsible' adults. Still, Simon likes the softness he sees in Jisu when Kanta's in his arms. It's like he doesn't see anyone else. It's sweet. 

Simon loosens his tie and Kanta tugs on Jisu's collar, looking down at Simon. “Wanna go to bed,” Kanta tells them, quite determined.

“Already?” Jisu pouts shamelessly, gently prodding Kanta in the belly and making him squirm. “You only just got here!” 

“Little man knows what he wants,” Simon says, and he laughs as Kanta wraps his little hands around Jisu's big one and pulls. “Come on. We've got him all weekend.”

They've had Kanta to stay over often enough that it's routine, getting him into bed. Simon holds Kanta up in front of the mirror when he brushes his teeth, and Jisu tells Kanta gravely that when he stays with his uncles, he's only allowed to wear the Batman pajamas.

Simon's favourite part is always when they've finally bundled a sleepy Kanta into bed. Jisu settles himself on the bed next to Kanta and lets him hold onto his hand. From the doorway, Simon listens as Jisu sings softly, stroking his free hand through Kanta's hair until he drifts off, his grip on Jisu's hand loosening.

They head to bed not long after. You learn to prepare for a toddler's sunrise wake-up call. “You're a marshmallow,” Simon tells Jisu as he strips off his suit. It feels so nice to finally be out of those clothes.

“I am not,” Jisu frowns at him. He hikes his boxers up on his hips. “I am a strong and masculine man.”

Simon smiles, and it sweetens the expression in Jisu's eyes. “No,” he says, carefully folding his suit pants and throwing them over the back of the chair. “You're a marshmallow in the shape of a man.” His socks are the last to go, tossed one by one into the laundry basket.

With a quiet growl, Jisu tackles Simon back onto the bed. They're roughly the same size, but Simon is broader, more muscular. He doesn't even pretend to put up a fight, he'd much rather let Jisu pin him to the bed like this. “A nicely shaped man,” Simon amends, and Jisu laughs, punching him in the chest. “Great face.” The smile on Jisu's face is too tempting, and Simon kisses him for it, splaying his hand across Jisu's hip to keep his weight settled just where it is. 

They're still on top of the covers so finally, reluctantly, Simon nudges Jisu away. “What would your sister say if we kept him?” Jisu asks softly as he climbs under the covers. He's teasing, but there's still something wistful about his expression.

Simon lets Jisu fold his long arms around him, the warmth of his chest pressing up against Simon's back. “I think that's called kidnapping,” he points out, and he can feel it when Jisu laughs. “Maybe we can get one of our own someday.”

Jisu presses his lips to Simon's shoulder and hums. “Yeah,” he agrees. “Someday.” They both know it's complicated, and it wouldn't be an easy process. Still, when Simon sees how Jisu is with Kanta, he knows it'd be worth it.

As they settle down to sleep, Simon tugging the sheet over them, he comes to a decision. A puppy, he thinks. Maybe one with spots. Baby steps.


	21. EXO, Kai/Sehun/Luhan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sehun/luhan/kai  
> pg-13, 4.1k words  
> au. _mission impossible_

The mark: Lu Han, young heir to a Chinese investment firm, due to step into his father's shoes within the next six months. “Oh,” Jongin says, looking up at the footage that plays onscreen. He looks even younger than Jongin expected, eyes sharp, features delicate, and when he laughs, his whole face changes. Next to him, Sehun clears his throat and Jongin tears his eyes away from the slope of Lu Han's nose, flushing. “That's him?”

Kyungsoo favours him with a look that says all that he's not bothering to say. Sehun doesn't give him the benefit of the doubt. “No,” Sehun says. “No, Jongin, this isn't a mission briefing, this is a set up for a blind date.” 

Eyes narrowed, Jongin turns to snap at him, but Kyungsoo cuts him off, slapping a folder down in front of them. “That's Lu Han, incredibly wealthy, groomed from birth to succeed his father at the helm of their company.” Sullenly, Jongin flicks the folder open with a finger and glances over the paperwork. “It's more than likely that he's aware of his father's dealings on the side, but hasn't yet begun to take part. He's our best shot at getting evidence of his father's work.”

“A honey pot?” Jongin asks, and he ignores the way that Sehun scowls. They've pulled this kind of mission before, it's almost routine now. Jongin is the lure, the honey. He knows how to read a mark, mirror their body language, feed them just what they need to hear. He likes the formula of it, likes the way that he gets to worm his way into their heads and pull out all their dirty little secrets and they don't even know his name. There's something safe about it.

Sehun is the safety on these jobs. He keeps his eyes on Jongin, he makes sure that everything is under control. It makes sense, Sehun has never had the patience that Jongin has, to play pretend the way he does. Still, sometimes Sehun chafes a bit under what he sometimes calls being 'glorified backup'. He pretends like he doesn't, but he kicks his feet up on the table in front of them, heels landing squarely on top of Jongin's folder.

“A honey pot,” Kyungsoo confirms. Jongin punches Sehun in the shin and he yelps, dragging the papers off the table with his feet. Kyungsoo drums his fingertips against the tabletop, looking supremely unimpressed. He has that face on again, the one that says _and supposedly you're adults_ and also _the country puts it's security in your hands, god help me_. “Now, we've done a bit of research, so we know what he likes. Our young heir apparently likes to be in charge.”

“So be at your most twinky,” Sehun says. Jongin bounces a pen off his forehead. 

“Enough,” Kyungsoo snaps, and Jongin straightens immediately, looking apologetic. Kyungsoo sighs, pressing his fingers to his temples. “Sorry,” he says. “This is a big one. I've been locked in research with Chanyeol and Baekhyun night and day for the past week.” Jongin's eyes widen. Ah. That explains the headache and the short temper. Prolonged exposure to Park Chanyeol was sure to send anyone a little off the rails. “So let's try to be a little professional about it, alright?”

Sehun shrugs and nods. “We're professionals,” he says.

“Like that means anything,” Kyungsoo says dryly. He pulls out his chair and sits down, propping his chin up on one hand. “Please make all that research worthwhile. _Please_.”

“Got it, hyung,” Jongin says. He even throws in a salute, which gets him an indulgent smile. 

Kyungsoo stretches out an arm to press a button on the desktop console and the screen above them shifts. “Lu Investing is throwing their bicentennial gala in three days time.” The screen cycles through photos showing the interior of the hall as well as blueprints. “Jongin, you're the son of the VP for Shinhan Financial Group, Sehun, you're his hotshot investor pal.” Sehun clicks his tongue and wrinkles his nose sullenly. “The plan is simple. Jongin will sweet talk Lu Junior into trusting him, establish a rapport, and hopefully that will get us a line into his dad's dealings.”

Easy peasy. They've done this a half dozen times before. As Jongin looks up at the screen, Lu Han's face pops up again. “At least he's not old,” Sehun grumbles, twirling his pen in his fingers, and Jongin wholeheartedly agrees.

 

-

 

Jongin slides into his persona with ease. After dinner, he strolls into the hall with one hand tucked into the pocket of his expensive, immaculately tailored suit, Sehun at his elbow. The Lus have really gone all out. The old room is filled with people, men and women dressed to the nines. “You can practically smell the money,” Sehun says, and Jongin catches the faint distaste in his expression. 

“Agent Oh,” Sehun's handler sighs. “Please keep your comments to yourself right now.”

It's pure training that keeps Jongin from grinning at that. Next to him, Sehun clenches his jaw. “Mark?” Jongin speaks without moving his lips, voice just loud enough to be picked up by his earpiece. 

“The bar. He's dyed his hair dark for the party, apparently.” Yifan' voice is a nice steady rumble in Jongin's ear, a calming presence. “Put your Kai face on and go get him, tiger.”

“Tiger?” Working with Sehun on a mission is an exercise in reading the microexpressions that flicker across his face. Right now, it's incredulity and disgust. “No wonder you two never made it to the field. You're too _lame_.”

“Agent Oh, _please_ ,” Joonmyun says. “The mission.”

Sehun peels away, begins to weave his way through the crowd. “Yeah, yeah,” he says. “The mission.”

Jongin takes his time making his way over to Lu Han at the bar. The three of them are, by far, the youngest in the room. This isn't a true celebration, it's an event. The men and women in this room are here to be seen, to rub elbows with their social equals and celebrate their status. Really, Jongin doesn't blame Lu Han for setting up camp at the bar. He would too.

When he finally does make it over, Lu Han is idly watching the crowd move, face carefully blank. His newly dark hair is carefully styled up out of his face, and it lends him a few more years to his almost ethereally young face. The whiskey in his hand definitely looks more exciting than the wine Jongin had been passed by a server. “Oh good,” Jongin says, coming to lean against the bar next to him. “I was beginning to think that I was the only person here under the age of fifty.”

Lu Han takes his time turning to look at Jongin, an amused smile playing across his lips. It is _really_ hard for Jongin to believe that he's nearly thirty, and even has a few years on Jongin and Sehun. “That's your opening line?” Lu Han asks. He takes a sip of his drink and raises his eyebrows. “Really? Everyone here knows who I am, you don't really expect me to believe you're the one person in the room who doesn't.”

The reports were right, he's not easy to flatter. Jongin feels obscurely pleased by this. Lu Han is expecting this to fluster him and Jongin delivers, ducking his head and averting his eyes. “Uh,” he says, articulately. He presses a finger to his lips, and that nervous gesture, that's all Jongin. 

These characters, they always blur that line between what's a mask and what isn't, and Jongin can't tell if that's a good thing or not. It makes it easier, at least, to borrow pieces of himself instead of creating a whole new persona from scratch. 

“You're lucky you're cute,” Lu Han tells him, and Jongin's smile is hesitant. Tipping his head, Lu Han swirls his glass, the single ice cube clinking against the sides. “Kim Kai, right? Your father is the VP for Shinhan.” Jongin's eyes widen almost involuntarily and Lu Han looks pleased. “Oh, don't be surprised. It's my job to know who everyone is. Part of the whole 'heir to the empire' thing.”

In Jongin's ear, Sehun snorts. “Cute, my ass,” he mutters. “He may not be old but he's clearly blind.”

Thank God Jongin has had years of practice dealing with him, because Sehun is probably the biggest pain on the planet. He bites his tongue and instead shifts his expression to admiration. “Empire,” he says. “Sounds like fun.”

There's a wry twist to Lu Han's mouth when he shrugs, but it vanishes as quickly as it came. “Doesn't it?” he agrees. Jongin edges a bit closer, tipping his hips towards Lu Han. Lonely, he thinks. It's carefully covered, but Jongin's been trained in these things. Lonely at the top. “At very least, I get nothing but the best to drink at these affairs.”

As Jongin leans in, he becomes aware of the gaze of a tall man, dressed all in black. Young, muscular beneath his nondescript suit, high cheekbones, long nose. He watches them from the end of the bar, eyes intense. Bodyguard, no doubt. He's not much on subtlety, it seems. “And occasionally good company?” Jongin suggests, and his smile is at its most earnest. He takes a risk, visibly hesitating before he touches his hand to Lu Han's elbow.

Instantly, the man at the bar moves towards them and without looking back at him, Lu Han raises his hand. “We're okay, Zitao,” he says, amused. His eyes remain fixed on Jongin, turning a bit thoughtful. He's sharp, Jongin thinks. He knows that Jongin's playing it up. Jongin is impressed. “Not bad company,” Lu Han allows. 

“Would you like some more?” Jongin is going to kill him. He's going to murder him. He has a license to kill. It's totally okay. Sehun's grin over Lu Han's shoulder is smug as he casually props himself up on Lu Han's other side. In his ear, Jongin can hear Joonmyun squawking with horror. 

“A friend of yours?” Lu Han asks, although his tone says he already knows the answer to that question. 

Jongin is doing his best to contain his urge to glare a hole through Sehun's head. “Something like that,” Jongin says darkly. He wonders when their tech department will get advanced enough to invent a device to let him beam his rage right into Sehun's brain. He's jeopardizing the whole mission.

Their handlers think as much. Yifan cuts right through Joonmyun's ineffectual complaints with his low voice. “Agent Oh,” he says. He has on that dangerous voice, and even Sehun isn't immune to it. He swallows. Jongin doesn't bother to hide his smirk. Good. He should get in trouble. “Agent Oh, if you could possibly explain to us _why_ you've decided to throw the whole mission plan out the window, that would be great.” Casually, Sehun reaches up and flicks off his earpiece. _Great_. “Did he turn off his earpiece? Oh, for fuck's sake.” Yifan sounds about as exasperated as Jongin feels right now.

“Aren't you lucky,” Sehun says. “You've got your pick of the two most eligible bachelors in the room.” He leans in and flashes a grin that Jongin recognizes as Sehun on his 'charming' setting. “And at least one of us is pretty good looking.” Yeah, Jongin is going to flat out murder him.

Lu Han takes a step back, slowly looking from Sehun to Jongin and back again. The look dawning across his face is very pleased. “Oh,” he says dryly. “So lucky.”

“Can I buy you a drink?” Sehun asks. Lu Han looks down at his empty glass, clearly considering it. “I'm sure our dear Kai hasn't bothered to offer you anything yet.” He shakes his head at Jongin. “Just because he's filthy rich doesn't mean it isn't nice to have someone buy you things once in a while.” 

Jongin is a spy. He is a highly trained agent in the service of the country and he is a professional and there are lots of reasons why he can't strangle his partner in the middle of a gala in China and yet somehow none of them seem mighty compelling. “Thanks for the tip,” he says, doing his best to remain in character. He still sounds a little sharp, and Lu Han's eyes skate back towards him, intrigued.

“I'm always willing to help a hopeless case like you, Kai.” Sehun makes a point of waving down the bartender to get Lu Han a refill. Jongin bristles. Who is he calling hopeless? Jongin is a ladykilling superspy. He doesn't need Sehun's little _tips_.

Lu Han accepts the drink, but he doesn't say thank you, just tips his head towards Sehun. “I don't know,” he says. “He was doing pretty well before you showed up.” Jongin is so busy shooting Sehun a smug look that he doesn't notice Lu Han is watching him until too late. He flushes, embarrassingly enough, and God, he hates it when they go off the book. As soon as they're back in Seoul, he's asking for a new partner. 

“How old are you, anyway?” Lu Han asks. Sehun smirks, straightening his lapels. “I mean, you fill out your suit well, but your pickup lines sound like something a fifteen year old would try.” The change in Sehun's face is instantaneous, his shoulders dropping and his expression turning sullen and petulant.

Jongin raises his glass to his lips. “Ouch,” he laughs.

Lu Han turns to him like he's going to go after _him_ next, and Jongin can't figure out how to get this conversation back on track. He's about to try a new tack, compliments maybe, when out of the corner of his eye, he sees Lu Han's bodyguard drop like a stone. In a second, Jongin's on alert, scanning the crowd around them, drink abandoned. “Sehun?” he asks. 

There's a small crowd gathering around his prone body, the light conversation reduced to murmurs. “Nothing,” Sehun says. “Taking advantage of the crowd, I bet.” Jongin nods. Makes sense. If they could infiltrate the gala, it's more than likely someone else could too. And if their first move was to take out the bodyguard of the heir of one of the wealthiest companies in the world, well. 

“Zitao?” Lu Han says. He takes a step forward but both Jongin and Sehun move to stop him. “What happened? He just – oh my god.” He stiffens up suddenly, a man unused to feeling unsafe or afraid. 

“Exactly,” Jongin says. “Just stay – ” It's only Jongin's reflexes that save Lu Han from the knife that darts through the air towards him. Jongin holds Lu Han tight against his chest as the blade slams into the mirror, shattering it. Screams erupt around them, and suddenly everyone breaks into movement, fleeing. It's a mess.

He can see Lu Han struggling to keep his breathing even, but he's starting to shake. “Agent Kim.” As always, Yifan's voice cuts through the din. “I think this just became a protection mission.”

Jongin glances up at Sehun, who grimaces and then turns on his earpiece again. “Got it. Do you have anything?” 

All pretense gone, Sehun has retrieved his knife from the sheath at his calf, eyes scanning the rapidly thinning crowd. “It could be any number of groups. Becoming that rich and influential wins you your share of enemies, and all of them have their own very convincing reasons for knocking out the Lu heir.” Yifan sighs. “Just keep him alive.”

Jongin slides Lu Han around behind him, shielding him with his body. “Can do.” As the people make their hurried way out, there are two men left watching them. They look very calm for having just witnessed an attempted murder. “Two. Easy.”

Of course, that might not be the case. Jongin can feel Lu Han grip his waist as he looks the two attackers over. Neither are particularly tall, but Jongin knows better than to underestimate them. “Who are you guys?” Lu Han hisses against Jongin's shoulder, and Sehun settles himself into a fighting stance, hands at the ready.

“The good guys?” Sehun suggests. Another knife comes flying towards them and Jongin tugs them both down and out of the way. 

“You could try to sound more convincing,” Lu Han points out. His fingers tighten in Jongin's suit jacket when one of the men pulls out a gun. Jongin grimaces. _How_ did he get that past security? That seems kind of unfair. “Oh my god.”

Sehun mutters something about bringing a knife to a gunfight and then grabs Lu Han by the waist, hauling him bodily over the wide bar. Jongin scrambles after them, as quickly as he can, and they're just in time to escape the rattle of gunfire across the bar top. The expensive bottles on the bar back explode, sending shards of glass and alcohol flying. “This is fun,” Sehun shouts at Jongin through the noise. His arm is curled protectively around Lu Han's head.

“Super cool,” Jongin makes a face. He sheds his jacket and pulls out his own knives, passing them over to Sehun. “I hate fancy parties,” he complains. “No one is carrying anything useful.”

There's a lull in the gunfire, and Lu Han looks thoroughly rattled and completely pissed off. “Is this your fault?” His eyes are accusatory and Jongin holds up his hands.

“Don't look at us.”

Sehun darts up and tosses the knives in his hands in rapid succession. There's a yelp as he throws himself down again, and a smug grin spreads across his face. “We were just supposed to seduce you to get intel on your mean ole dad.”

“We?” Jongin hisses, outraged. “ _I_ was supposed to do the seducing, _you_ just decided to butt in, because you're an idiot.”

Sehun glares right back. “I'm twinkier,” he says sullenly. “It should've been _my_ job.”

The gunfire starts up again, sending what's left of the mirror raining down on their heads. “Really?” Lu Han gapes at the both of them. “Is this really a conversation that's happening right now?”

“He has a point,” Yifan says in his ear.

“Shut up,” Jongin and Sehun reply at the same time.

Lu Han puts his face in his hands. “I knew tonight was going to be bad but I never thought it'd be this bad.” The gunfire seems to be coming from closer range, not good. Jongin starts sifting through the glass on the floor, looking for something he can use. He comes up with the knife that had been thrown at them earlier. He hefts it for a second, feeling the weight. Well-balanced, he thinks, but Sehun has always had the better aim. Lu Han raises his head again, eyes narrowed. “Wait, who told you I like twinks?”

Sehun holds his hand out for the knife and Jongin passes it over. “Never mind,” he says. He begins to inch towards the end of the bar, dragging Lu Han with him. “Sorry about your suit,” he adds. It was a nice suit, really, and now it's getting shredded by the glass on the ground.

Behind them, Sehun is scrounging up some of the unbroken bottles, stretching up to throw them at the remaining assailant. He takes a second to check out Lu Han as he crawls behind Jongin, and when he's caught, he shrugs and mouths _what_? Jongin just rolls his eyes and keeps going towards the end of the bar. Lu Han doesn't even _have_ an ass.

“It's just a suit,” Lu Han tells him, a bit bewildered. 

“For the love of God, Jongin,” Joonmyun says. “Don't try to make small talk with the mark. Just get him out of there.” Jongin can't help the petulant way his lower lip sticks out. Everyone is against him.

They reach the end of the bar and Jongin holds out a hand to stop Lu Han. Past his shoulder, he can see Sehun gathering up a line of bottles as ammunition, flexing his long arms and rolling his shoulders. He catches Jongin looking and he nods. “I'll cover. Try not to die.”

There's dread in Lu Han's eyes “You two are the world's least reassuring rescuers.”

“It's fine,” Jongin tells him. “I haven't died yet.” Lu Han looks completely unimpressed. Whatever. 

Sehun holds up three fingers. “I've got this.”

“Get ready,” Jongin says, and he tugs Lu Han up into a crouch. The minute he hears the word 'go' in his earpiece he's off, dragging Lu Han with him. 

They run, expensive leather shoes sliding across polished tile floor. Who designs these things? Jongin feels like his feet are going to slide out from underneath him at any second. He's placed himself between the attacker and Lu Han, and he's got his hands full, trying to keep Lu Han upright and in one piece. They're halfway to the nearest exit when the shooter figures out what's going on and turns his gun on them. “How much ammo does this guy have?” Jongin moans, yanking Lu Han forward just as bullets rip through the stone tile behind them. He curls an arm around Lu Han's wrist and pushes him forward.

They make it to the doorway when the gunfire abruptly stops and there's a thud. Jongin cautiously glances around to see Sehun perched on the bar, looking pleased with himself. “Tequila,” he says. “Gets you every time.”

Jongin abruptly realizes that he's still gripping Lu Han tightly against his chest and he lets go, flushing and swallowing hard. Whoops. “Yifan,” he says. “Tell me it was just them.”

“A pair of assassins, hired by Lu's competition. It seems like you're in the clear, for now.”

“Good,” Sehun sighs. “I was running out of bottles.”

“We need you two to stay right there,” Joonmyun tells them. “Security is on the way, and we'd rather not make everything even worse by running away with Lu Junior.”

Lu Han occupies himself with carefully brushing off his knees and elbows, looking thoughtfully at the rips in his knees. “No, we wouldn't want that,” Jongin says. 

“So,” Lu Han says, looking up. “What do the voices in your head tell us we should do?” 

“Stay put,” Jongin says. “Our handlers and the cavalry are on the way.”  
Jongin isn't sure about the smirk that flashes onto Lu Han's lips. “Your handlers?” he asks. “Kinky.”

Sehun shrugs. “Not really. Although, didn't Yifan say something one time about ropes and – ” 

Both of them flinch as Joonmyun lets out a horrified shriek. “You _told_ them?” He's so loud that even Lu Han hears him, eyes widening.

“Jesus Christ,” Yifan groans.

“ _Anyway_ ,” Jongin clears his throat. “We've got some time before they all show up.” He loosens his tie and sits down heavily on the chipped tile floor. “Might be a while. He sounds mad.”

Lu Han nods, and then he looks thoughtfully at the two of them again. “What _will_ we occupy ourselves with until then?”

Sehun looks up from where he's been wrestling the top off of what looks like an incredibly expensive whiskey. “Oh,” he says. Jongin hadn't realized it was possible for him to look even more smug and self-satisfied, but there it was.

It takes a few seconds for it to sink into Jongin's head, but when it does, he can't help but grin. “ _Oh_ ,” he echoes.

Lu Han takes his time taking off his suit jacket and laying it across the bar, then pulling off his tie. “Well?” he says. “Seducing me was the mission, right?” He tips his head and his smile is almost predatory. “Let's see which one of you does better.”

“Agent Kim, you are on agency time – ” Jongin reaches up very deliberately and turns off his earpiece. Sehun follows suit, sliding off the bar, and as one, they move towards Lu Han.

Hey, they always did make a good team, right?


	22. EXO, Kai/Chanyeol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kai/chanyeol  
> nc-17, 2k words  
> au very very loosely based on exo-k's ivy club photoshoots

Jongin flinches as something bounces off the back of his head. It's a Friday afternoon, late in the day, and this close to summer, everyone is antsy. He's doing his best to focus on the notes at hand, chemistry has never come easily to him, but it's tough on a day like today. It's beautiful out, the sun shining down on the green fields, and Chanyeol has decided instead of taking notes, he's going to pelt Jongin with tiny pieces of paper.

It's infuriating. When the next one ricochets off one of his ears Jongin stands up in a rush, whirling to face Chanyeol. He looks so smug, long legs stretched out, toying with the torn up sheet of paper in front of him. He fires off another attack and it's only Joonmyun's hand on Jongin's wrist that stops him from lunging at Chanyeol. “Mr. Kim,” their teacher snaps. “If you and Mr. Park could keep that to the courts, please.”

Jongin sits down with a thump, clenching his jaw. It isn't _fair_. Chanyeol's always been a pain in the ass, six feet of too much enthusiasm and always determined to one up Jongin. He drives him nuts. “Mr. Park, I suggest you put that down, immediately.” Jongin turns just in time to see Chanyeol drop his papers down onto his desk, looking a bit disappointed. Serves him right.

Once again at the front of the classroom, Professor Cho sighs, rubbing his temples before he leans back against his desk. “Fine,” he says. “Clearly I've lost you. Go enjoy this beautiful day.” The room erupts in cheers and their professor looks resigned. He waves a hand to release them, but they're already bolting out of the room, Jongin included. 

Chanyeol crowds after him, hands pressed against his shoulders. “Go, go, go,” he chants, pushing at Jongin, making him trip over his feet.

Scowling, Jongin catches himself, tugging his jacket lapels straight. “I'm going,” he whines, trying to shrug Chanyeol's. All that gets him is Chanyeol's hands sliding perilously low, and Jongin throws an elbow back into his ribs. “Don't _touch_ me,” he snaps, and he hopes the _not here, you asshole_ comes through loud and clear. 

Chanyeol skirts around Jongin so that he's walking backwards in front of him, holding up both his hands in surrender. He's got no sense. What they do, that's an after-practice thing. It's just burning off steam. That's what they'd agreed. And then Chanyeol and his wandering hands and his stupid wiggling eyebrows and Jongin doesn't really know how to feel. 

Other than irritated. Jongin can only think of one thing for that. “Perfect time for early practice, right?” Jongin says. Chanyeol is still walking backwards, and Jongin doesn't take a second to notice the long line of his legs in his uniform pants. “Not that I need practice to kick your ass.”

Chanyeol breaks into a wide grin. “You're on.” He falls into step with Jongin and hooks his arm around Jongin's neck, dragging him in. “I hope you are ready to lose horrendously on this beautiful summer day.”

Jongin shoves him off and breaks into a run. “You'll be lucky if you catch me,” he calls over his shoulder, and he hears Chanyeol's loud, ridiculous laughter echo in the halls as he gives chase.

 

-

 

“That was a dirty play and you know it.” Jongin is furious, and he shoves at Chanyeol, sending him stumbling backwards against the lockers. The bang echoes in the empty locker room and the way that Chanyeol narrows his eyes at him is entirely satisfying. “You jumped the gun and served early, that's the only reason you got that last point.”

Chanyeol doesn't stand again, just stays leaning up against the lockers. His once pristine shirt is rumpled and a bit sweaty, his legs long and pale in his shorts. “Don't get pissy because you lost,” he tells Jongin. The way that he tips his head and smirks is infuriating. “You wouldn't have to make excuses if you just played better.”

Jongin closes the distance between them in a second, hands landing flat against Chanyeol's shoulders and pinning him there. “You cheated,” Jongin tells him, and Chanyeol is utterly unrepentant. “I've always been the better tennis player and you know it.” This close, he can see the sweat at Chanyeol's hairline, the shine of his parted lips.

“I wouldn't say I _know_ that,” Chanyeol replies, and when Jongin rolls his eyes and slams him back again, his fingers come up to grip Jongin's waist. “It's up for debate.”

His hands are warm against Jongin's sides, and it's only then that Jongin realizes how close they are. He swallows and Chanyeol's eyes follow the movement, fixed on his throat before his gaze wanders up towards Jongin's face, lingering on his lips. It's not fair, Jongin thinks. This is a kind of cheating too. He knows what he does to Jongin.

“I could make it up to you,” Chanyeol suggests, and his tongue darts out to swipe across his full bottom lip once, deliberately. “I mean, if your poor ego needs some stroking.”

Jongin's breath is a little short. “I can think of something else that could use some stroking,” he admits. Of course, this is what makes all of it worthwhile, Chanyeol's rough-housing and button pushing. When he gets that smug look on his face and pushes his thigh between Jongin's legs, hands sliding up to grip Jongin's ribs. It's hard not to let Chanyeol win when winning means Chanyeol pushing a hands down his shorts and palming him until he's hard. Not that it takes a lot.

“You've got the worst lines, you know that?” Chanyeol asks. Jongin could take offense, try to say something smart in response, but right now, he'd rather focus on the matter at hand. Or rather, the matter in Chanyeol's hands. Jongin's breath catches in his throat and he lets his head fall to Chanyeol's shoulder, riding the quick, loose movements of Chanyeol's fingers. He's not even doing much, and he's not very practiced, but it's so _good_. 

The best part about this is how he can't see how smug Chanyeol gets when he unravels Jongin like this. “Chanyeol,” Jongin mutters, and Chanyeol doesn't respond, just lets Jongin grind up against him, hand trapped between them. He can feel Chanyeol's hard on against his thigh, and at least he's not the only one. “ _Hyung_ ,” Jongin says, and of course, that's when Chanyeol laughs, pushing Jongin back until his calves hit the bench and he sits down, fast. 

He's so hard it hurts, and he reaches out mindlessly for Chanyeol. For once, Chanyeol doesn't play games. He just drops to his knees, hands settling against Jongin's thighs. Chanyeol watches Jongin, eyes steady, but he doesn't make a move to touch Jongin's cock again. “What are you waiting for?” Jongin groans.

The last thing he is expecting is Chanyeol nudging his knees apart, sliding between them and kissing him. Jongin makes this embarrassing, surprised, squeaky sound and Chanyeol laughs and catches his mouth in another kiss, fast and hard. His lips are just as plush as they look and it's funny, really, to think that he's felt them stretched around his cock but he's never actually kissed him. Right now, that seems like that was such a waste.

Jongin follows when Chanyeol pulls away, wide-eyed and a little astonished. “What – ?” he says. Chanyeol shrugs a shoulder and bends down, avoiding Jongin's eyes. It only takes him a second to get Jongin's shorts undone and his cock in his mouth. Jongin gasps and Chanyeol's fingers dig into his thighs. Chanyeol's not that good at this, or even that creative, but he's always enthusiastic and that kind of makes up for any lack of skill. He wraps one hand around the base of Jongin's cock, stroking in tandem with the bobbing of his head.

It's a good thing they're alone, because Jongin moans, loud and unrestrained. The slick slide of Chanyeol's tongue against the underside of his dick, the rough drag of his calloused hands, the tight heat of Chanyeol's lips, it's almost too much. Jongin tangles his fingers in Chanyeol's soft hair, and he's probably pulling too hard, but he can't bring himself to care. All he can think about is Chanyeol's mouth and how good it feels. “Hyung,” he says, and it ends up somewhere between begging and moaning. “ _Please_.”

Chanyeol pulls off with an obscene wet noise, looking up at Jongin through his long lashes as he wipes saliva from the corner of his mouth with his thumb. “Please?” he says. “How polite.” Jongin whines, but Chanyeol is obliging, letting Jongin tug him down towards his cock again.

Now, Chanyeol isn't wasting any time. He doesn't bother to tease Jongin or draw it out, just takes Jongin in as far as he can manage. It drags a strangled noise out of Jongin's throat, makes him buck his hips up into Chanyeol's mouth. He feels it building, hot and inexorable in his belly, and he almost can't take it.

“Chanyeol, hyung, I'm gonna – ” That's all the warning that Jongin manages before he's coming in Chanyeol's mouth. Chanyeol pulls off hastily and the sight of his come-streaked lips is enough to make Jongin groan and shove him away. He's too much. 

Grimacing a little, Chanyeol wipes his face clean with the back of his hand. “Thanks,” he pants. Jongin thinks he looks best like this, sweaty, hair a mess, his lips pink and swollen, one hand working against the front of his shorts. 

“You're welcome,” Jongin replies. He feels boneless and exhausted, but somehow, letting Chanyeol finish himself off feels like letting him win. He's gotta be gracious, right? He hooks two fingers in the collar of Chanyeol's shirt and tugs. “C'mere.”

Chanyeol follows easily, and they shift until they're both sitting on the bench, facing each other. “Well?” Chanyeol asks, and Jongin grins. About time he got a little vengeance. 

Jongin isn't cruel, though. He startles Chanyeol by leaning in and kissing him. He's not as good as Chanyeol is, but it doesn't seem to matter. Chanyeol's mouth parts eagerly under his, and he lets out this soft sigh when Jongin unbuttons his shorts and wraps a hand around his cock. 

If he's honest, Jongin likes all the little noises Chanyeol makes. He clutches at Jongin's shirt front, his hips jerking up into Jongin's hand as he kisses him. He's too desperate for Jongin's touch to be anything but sloppy, and it's not long before he breaks away to pant hotly against Jongin's cheek and comes hard over his hand.

Now that actually _is_ gross. Jongin pulls his hand out of Chanyeol's boxers and uses Chanyeol's shorts to clean it off, ignoring his protests. “My mouth tastes like come,” Jongin complains. The fact that it's _his_ seems immaterial at the moment. 

Chanyeol wipes at his mouth again. He still has some on his chin. “Is that...okay?” he asks. 

Jongin takes a second to think about it. The kissing thing, that was a new development, sure. But Jongin was pretty sure he could get used to it. Especially when Chanyeol kissed like _that_. “Yeah,” Jongin shrugs. “It's cool.”

The grin he gets in return is blinding. “Cool,” Chanyeol says. He makes a face as he stands, looking down at his befouled shorts. “Um. Can I borrow some pants?” He squawks when he gets a faceful of what is probably mostly clean sweat pants. “Oh, come on.”

Jongin tucks his dick back into his shorts and stands up. “You've got a little something on your chin,” he tells Chanyeol, and then he smiles and darts out the door. Chanyeol shouts after him, but Jongin doesn't stop. He knows when to make a dramatic exit. 

He doesn't slow down until he's halfway back to the dorm, but his heart is still pounding. He thinks of Chanyeol's sex-mussed hair and pretty mouth and he just can't quit grinning. Kissing now, huh? He can work with that.


End file.
